


The Twenty-One Day Plan

by rosecampion



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-29
Updated: 2002-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 72,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecampion/pseuds/rosecampion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life has settled down into a boring domesticity for Doggett and Mulder. Doggett has a plan to spice up their sex life. Complications ensue. They get far more excitement than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twenty-One Day Plan

warning: May be intensely schmoopy. Also, a little bit of angst and even a tiny bit of DoggettTorture. Mostly unadulterated schmoop t  
spoilers: "The Truth" a little, not much else rating: NC-17. It was originally intended to be nothing but a total PWP smut fest but all this story kept happening. Don't worry. There is plenty of hot monkey sex anyway.

disclaimer: You know the drill...don't belong to me...don't make a dime...yes, sir, thank you, may i have another.... apologies, thanks, kudos, etc.: Special thanks to Bertina for her awesomely fast beta job. Thanks to the lovely folks of the Fox and Hound list for their encouragement and suggestions, especially Jo, Diandra and Bertina. Apologies to those of you who may have already read this as it was serialized day by day on the Fox and Hound mailing list.

 

***

 

Day One-

The real mystery of my relationship with Fox Mulder is not how it happened in the first place, but how we managed to survive the shitstorm of the century, of all human existence even, and still end up growing old together. I had thought for sure that it'd be the last I'd ever see of him when he drove off into the desert with Scully. Thought I'd lost him to Scully at the very least and to a whole other world of pain most likely, after the revelations and that mockery that called itself a trial and everything. But just like that proverbial bad penny, he came back.

I still don't believe half of that alien BS and I lived through it. Maybe it would be more accurate to say that I don't want to believe it. Regardless, we fought. We found weaknesses. We won. And eventually, life slipped back into something approaching normal or as close to normal as any life with Fox Mulder could be.

Only he didn't go by Fox Mulder anymore. Fox William Mulder, despite everything, was still a wanted man with a murder conviction and an impending sentence of death by lethal injection. Nobody was looking too hard for Fox Mulder; still, it wouldn't do for him to use the name publicly. So I found myself living with one Martin David Fox. Marty. I hate the name Marty. I call him Martin in public and Fox when we're at home.

Yeah, we share a home, have for years. We were turning into a regular pair of old farts. We share a house, actually my old house in Falls Church. We pay bills together, by which I mean we actually pay them together, sitting down together every Sunday afternoon and writing out the checks and licking the envelopes. Our big weekly date, Fox calls it, the smart ass. We cook dinner, by which I mean, I cooked dinner and assigned Fox various tasks like chopping carrots. Fox is an indifferent cook and just as happy to heat up a can of soup and call it dinner. We mow the lawn. We wash the cars. We do laundry and run suits to the dry cleaners. We shop for groceries, by which I mean once a week I drag Fox to the store and pump him for input on what to put in the cart so that during the middle of the week I don't have to listen to him bitch about how there's never anything decent to eat in the house. I clean up piles of sunflower seed shells from living room end tables and dump them on the desk in his office. He bitches when I insist on watching NASCAR. Like I said, a regular pair of old farts. As close to married as the law lets us be.

Fox writes. You've probably seen some of his books, written under a pseudonym of course, in the airport bookstore. You've almost certainly seen the movie they made out of one of them. As for the TV show that spawned off the movie, well, Fox disavowed any association with that, besides cashing the checks, long ago. You might have seen some of his other books, written under a different pseudonym, if you wandered to a section of the bookstore called "Speculation." There next to other similarly unbelievable books, his books that tell the true, full story of the X-files sit. You've probably laughed at them, disbelieved that the government could pull off such a successful, dangerous coverup. If I didn't know better, I'd agree with you. I mean, these are the same guys that gave us first Amtrak then the doomed National Rail Corporation that replaced it. Regardless, the man suffers from the worst case of logorrhea I've ever seen and just keeps churning the suckers out. And the public keeps buying them and whining until the next one comes out.

His success took a lot of adjustment for me, a lot of early head butting because I was a dick about the fact that my lover could afford to buy and sell me ten times over. We got over it and eventually I relaxed about the fact that I could just lie back and get rich off Fox spinning the same kind of bullshit that made him the mockery of the Bureau and got him thrown out of bars back when.

I didn't have to work, but like all the good workaholics that made up the Doggett family tree, I couldn't imagine retiring when there was still some fight left in me. By that point, I couldn't go back to law enforcement. I'd been on the wrong side of the badge for too long. So I dusted off my graduate degrees, particularly my law degree, and went out and got a job.

You probably recognize the environmental organization I work for. We're a household name, pretty much, and came to prominence with our whistleblowing before the big Globalcomm ecotastrophe and our response after it happened. I'm in house legal counsel. When I'm not busy seeking injunctions against various corporations to stop building factories in various wetlands or dumping toxic wastes in the desert, a lot of my professional responsibilities include bailing our activists out of jail after they've been arrested for capping some polluter's pipes or the like. My co-workers specialize in direct action protests. I specialize in pulling their asses out of the fire. More and more difficult these days when some of the prosecutors are finding ways to charge them under the old Homeland Security acts. Thought those particular pieces of legislation were dead, toothless and no threat to your civil liberties?

Hold it. When did John Jay Doggett become a tree hugging hippie?

I didn't. Rather, in my geezerdom, I found myself falling into a conservativeness so profound that I had far more in common with the radical leftists at work than I did with any middle of the road, what's good for business is good for the country, religious right moral majority Republican assholes. I got pissed off about the big corporations feeding at the public trough and using public monies to clean up the messes they left behind. I still fought the bad guys, just like I always had. It was a different set of them now, and I used a different set of tactics. It's not so unconceivable I ended up working with these people. You see, a huge part of the conspiracy never was just the government, but also huge corporations. And wouldn't you know it, but that the preparations for an alien invasion tend to spew huge amounts of lethal chemicals and do things like poison water tables and kill off local wildlife. Seems logical. I ran into my future co-workers when they were trying to put some healthy pressure on a corporation called Roush Industrials. I was looking to do the same thing for different reasons. You know, the whole enemy of my enemy is my friend thing worked out pretty well in this case. I plugged my first waste pipe that morning. Our new allies helped with the fight, even thought they never knew the full truth of what we were fighting. But when it was all over and they asked me if I wanted to work for them, the answer was logical. I don't plug pipes anymore, at least not in any official capacity. Of course, a man's hobbies are his own business, at least as long as he can avoid getting caught at them.

The pay sucks, but surprisingly, not much worse than a civil servant's pay. And they never even blinked about the fact that the other name on my family health insurance is "Martin" not Martina.

Like I said, things are pretty normal in the Fox/Doggett household. Complacent even. We're an old, comfortable married couple. We have a couple of cats even. And, God help us, a crockpot and one of those drawers in the kitchen that's filled with the kind of junk that isn't remotely useful but that just seems to accumulate in any settled household. Pieces of string too short to use and the like.

All that's missing is the kind of warp-core, burning hot, mind-blowing sex that was what brought us together in the first place.

I'd heard some of my lesbian pals joke about the dreaded "lesbian bed death" syndrome, but I'd never dreamed it would happen to me. Not the lesbian part. The bed death.

Oh, once or twice a month, when I could drag Fox out of his study or when I relaxed about getting the lawn mowed or came home from work on a day where I wasn't out in Chesapeake or Portland, Oregon, bailing out a co-worker, we had something like sex. We traded perfunctory blowjobs maybe, or just jerked each other off. Actual intercourse was limited to the brief vacations we could steal away from my work and his. It seemed like far too much work most of the time.

Take this morning. I'd woken a little early, with a mind to some early morning lovin'. Unfortunately, I'd also woken alone. I'd gone to bed with Fox, but he must have woken in the night with a story idea and gone to work. He does that a lot. Still marginally hopeful, I left our bed and went out into the hall. The door to his office was shut. Worse yet, draped over the doorknob was one of his old ties. It meant, do not, under any circumstances, even if the house is on fire, disturb me. I sighed, took myself back to the bedroom and got ready to go to the gym.

At about one in the afternoon, I dragged myself away from a series of futile phone calls with various prosecutors around the country and brought out the lunch I'd packed that morning. I could have eaten out, but it was much more fun to torment my co-workers. Sure, I have lots in common with these people, but I still get tired as hell of some of their damn fool ideas.

The new intern was in the break room already when I walked in. Luna, I think she called herself. I think her real name was something bland like Ashley or Taylor. She was twenty, had purple hair and was damn impressed with herself that she was working to Save The Planet. She was a Vegan. She blanched a little when I brought out my sandwich and it became obvious what was between the slices of mushy white bread and slathered with real mayonnaise.

"Ohmigod!" she flustered when I took a bite. "Is that red meat?"

I finished chewing and swallowed, then I grinned and said, "Yeah. Shot it myself. Want some?"

I pushed the other half of the sandwich at her, knowing she wouldn't take it. "Ohmigod! You're not kidding, are you?" she asked. "You shot that, whatever it is you're eating. You killed it?"

Like I said. I work with a bunch of Bambi-lovers. I guess I'm one too, in my own kind of way. Marinated overnight and on the grill is one good way. I'm not foolish enough to eat beef these days, what with the prevalence of mad cow. But a hunting week in Pennsylvania in the fall is usually all it takes to stock our freezer full of nice, corn-fed venison. They're vermin up there, a menace to the farmers.

At that moment, a gaggle of women from public relations came in and assessed the situation. Just about every office I've ever worked in has a gaggle like this. They might have been wearing broomstick pleated skirts and birkenstocks, rather than suits and heels, but they were much the same. They still spent lunch hour gossiping and bitching about their husband and kids.

"Be nice to the new kid, John," Jeanine said, looking at the terrorized intern, face nearly green to match her blue hair. Jeanine knows all my tricks. I shrugged and took another bite of my sandwich and got back to reading the second draft of Fox's latest thousand page brick of crappola like I promised him I would. Sea monsters that plant sea monster babies in your throat so you die of anaphylactic shock. Hallucinogens in the water. A sea side town in terror during a hurricane. Who'd believe this crap? Amusing crap sure, but definitely junkfood of the mind. "My lover stays away from my bed to write this?" I thought to myself, still I couldn't help smiling as I recognized snippets stolen right from the X-files. When I looked up again, the intern seemed to have lost interest in her sprout and raw food lunch and left. The women who came in later had taken up the other half of the table and were talking among themselves in that certain kind of womentalk that meant they'd forgotten I was there. Sometimes I was irritated by the fact that just because I'd set up housekeeping with someone who had balls and a dick instead of boobs that I was therefore somehow not quite a 'real' man in their eyes. Therefore, not excluded from their womentalk. On the other hand, it always provided some interesting revelations on how the other half of humanity lived. If I'd heard half of what I hear now back when I was married, I probably never would have gotten divorced.

"So, Lakeisha, you know Lakeisha over in accounting, was reading this great new book. I guess they say that one point seven times per week is average for married couples for. Well, you know. And she and her husband were like way below average," this was Jeanine speaking.

"I'll bet she wasn't happy about that," chirped in another one of the women then laughed.

"So you know, she said she was going to do something about it. She found this great book. I guess the idea is that in order to reinforce any new habit, you have to do it constantly for twenty one days. Then it just becomes second nature. The book is called "The Twenty-One Day Plan." I guess it's all about how to get your non-existent sex life back on track. The main idea is that you have sex twenty one times in twenty one days. She never told me whether she put the plan into action or not."

Another woman piped in, "You know, I thought she was looking happier than she usually does. I'll bet somebody is getting some."

"No, I know for sure someone is getting some."

Then they all laughed.

I decided I just might have to stop at the bookstore on the way home tonight. Not that I usually fall for that kind of self help BS, but I was getting desperate. Just then, Laura, the temp currently replacing my assistant, poked her head in the door of the break room. "Hey, John, Jilly is on the phone. She's under arrest again."

Jilly is our chief muckracker, one time industrial chemist, current pain in my ass. I sighed and said, "Where is it this time?"

"Not far at least. Delaware."

"Son of a bitch! Am I going crazy? Did I or did I not expressly tell her not to mess with Dow again?"

"You did. Does Jilly ever listen?"

"She could have at least warned us. Has anyone talked to the press yet?"

And so it began. Here I'd been thinking of calling it a day early and it was past eight by the time I was pulling into the driveway. No time to stop at the bookstore afterall, but I did have time to stop at the drug store. I was desperate. As an example of how bad it'd gotten, we'd used the last condom something like three months ago and neither of us had bothered to restock. Until now.

The house was quiet and dark. Dale and Sophie, the cats, hopped up on the counter as I turned on the kitchen lights. I shooed them off and discovered that Fox hadn't fed them. With lithe, furry bodies weaving in and around my ankles, I poured kibble into their bowls on the floor. Once they'd achieved their goal, I was, of course, roundly ignored. I went upstairs in search of Fox. He might be asleep or he might still be in front of the computer, with the light of the screen his only illumination. The house bore no sign that he'd been downstairs at all today.

He was in our bed, sleeping off a big writing binge. I stood in the doorway for a minute, looking tenderly at his sleep-tousled hair and the way the sheets tangled around his ankles. He was curled up on one side, left hand tucked under his pillow, right hand reaching out to the side of the bed that I slept in. He was serene, almost angelic in his sleep. And damn gorgeous. Middle age spread had finally caught up with him a bit, but I didn't care. He was still my Fox and that little pot belly was kind of cute. I stood a long time, looking at him, remembering why exactly I'd fallen in love with him and why I was still here even though it had been months since I'd had satisfactory sex with him.

When I could stand these sappy wellings of love no longer, I bounced onto the bed and started to wake him with kisses. He opened his eyes blearily and after a minute of sleepily returning my kisses, tore his mouth from mine and asked, "Timzzit?"

"Bout eight thirty. C'mon, get up. I'm taking you out for dinner."

That woke Fox up completely. In the darkened room, he blinked at me, then said, "What's up? Did I completely miss something important? Birthday? Anniversary? You've finally decided to dump me? Your mother's moving in?"

"None of the above. Just get up and get dressed."

Half an hour later, I was out of the monkey suit and noose and both of us had pulled on jeans. My favorite red and white flannel shirt for me, a black sweater for Fox. We settled into a booth in the first family style restaurant we'd come to that was open. We rarely went out. I liked cooking. I liked my normal life, make no mistake about that. I liked domesticity. It had to be possible to have both that and the kind of earth shattering sex that we'd had at both the beginning and in the most dangerous, harrowing days of the battle for the earth. I refused to believe I had to trade in soul-rending, transformative lovemaking in order to get the stability that I craved.

Fox slouched down in the booth and propped his feet up on the bench I was sitting on, one on each side of my legs, feet touching my thighs. "So, what's up?" he asked. "You never take me out unless it's for a good reason."

"We gotta talk," I said hesitantly. You'd think I'd be just as facile with words as Fox. I was a lawyer, for God's sake. I could argue a paranoid judge into accepting that dumping fifty gallon drums of a corporation's toxic wastes back onto the lawn of one of their corporate parks was just an extension of protected free speech and not domestic terrorism after all. Never-the-less, I could get nervous talking to Fox. He could talk rings around me; lead me here or there at will with just his words. He was a master at baffling people with bullshit. That's part of the reason I always took him out when I had these important conversations with him. Not because I particularly relished having our most private moments where any waitress could hear them, but because he tended to rein himself in a little in public. Our booth was fairly removed from the handful of other diners in the place, but it was still public enough.

"So talk."

"I'm not happy," I said. I decided my best tactic was to make this as straightforward as possible. Fox sat up, bolt upright in his seat, his feet dropping to the floor. I felt cold as their warmth left the sides of my thighs. I wanted to protest, but instead I continued, "About sex mostly. I didn't throw my sexual identity out the window and agree to being called faggot to my face all the time just to be your roommate. You can't tell me you're happy about the situation either. We haven't had sex since May third and before that, the last time was sometime in March."

"Well, no. I can't say that I am. But you're gone so often and we're so busy. It just seems like we never have enough time for it."

"Seems like we have plenty of time to sit on our asses and watch television. Or to mow the lawn. Or make dinner. Or clean house. We should have plenty of time for sex."

"Then when would the lawn get mowed? Or the house cleaned? You're always such a hardass about getting that done."

"Fox, I make a good living. And you've had two books on the best seller list for three months now. I think maybe we can afford to hire someone to mow the damn lawn. Look, I think maybe our problem is we've gotten out of the habit. It's not part of the routine anymore. After a while without, a person just kind of forgets what they're missing out on. I've been thinking about it a lot recently."

"You sound like you have a plan." Fox fiddled with his water glass, shifting it from hand to hand. It slid across the laminate table top smoothly in a small puddle of water. I've lived with him long enough to know the fidgeting meant he was nervous. Maybe afraid that I was going to dump him. He still fretted about that occassionally. I just ignored his fretting and loved him.

"If we can get out of the habit of something, we can get into it again. Just takes some effort on our part. I don't think it's a physical problem for either of us," There, though I didn't have the courage to mention the big I by name, it was out in the open. Impotence could very well be a problem with men of our age. Some of the plumbing sometimes broke down over the years, simple fact of life. "If it is, we'll deal with it. But it seems to me that when we actually get around to having sex, everything functions just fine."

"No, no problems here," Mulder said. "So, what's your plan to get us back on track?"

"Well, you know they say that it takes twenty-one days of repetition to reinforce a positive habit."

"That's never been proven. That's just the equivalent of an old wive's tale," Mulder said. Of course the psychologist would say that. "No significant studies have proven that."

"Well, call it a metaphor then. Any regular repetition of an action builds a routine eventually and in this case, the positive reinforcement is built right into the exercise. Twenty-one days, twenty, thirty, forty. Whatever it takes."

"So, let me get this straight. You're proposing we have sex twentyone days in a row? It'll never work. You're gone too frequently for that, usually without warning. You have no idea how much I hate it to be thinking about you all day, hardly able to wait for you to get home, then you call me and tell me you're flying out to Scottsdale or some godforsaken corner of the country like that."

"I'm usually none too thrilled about it myself, buddyboy. You could always try and talk your pal Jilly into behaving a little more sensibly. Then I might not have to fly to Scottsdale or Boise on no notice." I decided to take the opportunity to put my feet up on the booth just like he had, one on each side of his thighs. I slipped my shoes off first though, so I could rub his legs with my feet.

Fox and Jilly got on like houses on fire. She was just like Fox was back when he was younger and still on a quest to save the world. And I thought I more than understood what Walt must have felt like, trying to keep Fox from killing himself without reining him in so much he couldn't do his life's work. Poor Walt. He'd definitely earned his retirement, that was for sure. Last I heard, he was in the south pacific, getting a tan, and hopefully, laid a lot.

"Right. Sex more often. I think that might just about fit on my agenda," Fox said, and gave me one of his grins. I could have just melted right about there, grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the booth and back home, except the damn waitress decided after ignoring us for the past fifteen minutes that now was the perfect time to come take our order.

I chose eggs and bacon. Eggs were generally safe, since they'd gotten the great salmonella epidemic under control and bacon, besides that being fried to a crisp generally killed all the bacterial critters, they hadn't found prions in pork yet. Fox ordered a burger and when I gave him a look he said, "When I'm dying of mad cow, you can tell me you said I told you so."

I raised an eyebrow at that, something I'd managed to pick up from Dana. Fox said, "You've been working with those environmentalists too long. You're starting to see everything in terms of the poisons it could have picked up. What can I get? Tuna melt? No, mercury and other heavy metals. Turkey burger? No, that wild strain of e coli is still a danger."

"Vegetables are generally a safe bet," I counseled, "Depending on where they're grown. Eggs. Cheese is usually okay."

I guess I could see Fox's point. I knew way too much about toxic seepage into farmlands, compromised water supplies, and general hazards to health and safety posed by the various chemicals we humans were releasing into the environment. Did you know that they've found Prozac and other drugs in the water supply?

The waitress was staring at us by now, crossly. "If you two, uh, gentlemen are done discussing the nonexistent safety of our food supply, can I finish taking your order?" she asked petulantly. I could definitely see that someone was going to be getting a bare minimum tip tonight.

"I'll have the blueberry waffle," Fox decided. I ran a stockinged foot along his thigh in anticipation of the waitress leaving us alone.

"Hey, you know, I thought I recognized you. I saw you on the news earlier today. You're the spokesperson for..."

"Yes. But I'm at dinner now. Not work. We don't need anything else, thanks."

Definitely a bare minimum tip for her tonight. Ironically, Fox, despite being far more successful, could walk down the street more or less anonymously. On the other hand, I was on the news a couple of times a month. My coworkers liked having me in front of the cameras for the same reason they like having me as their lawyer. I put on the monkey suit and I reek respectability. It's easy to dismiss an environmentalist when they're in long hair and Birkenstocks, but when you put someone so obviously part of the status quo in front of people, they start wondering maybe this whole thing might be serious.

Finally the waitress got the hint and left us alone. I moved my left foot from the outside of Fox's thigh to the inside, rubbing slowly and even more slowly moving up to the joining of his thighs. He grinned at me again, and said, "So, we try and have sex everyday for twenty-one days in a row?"

"I was thinking that with my travel schedule, that's not really possible. I figure we should aim for twenty-one times in twenty one days. You know, double up some days to make up for when I'm not here."

"Does phone sex count?" he asked. I slid my foot further up the inside of his thigh, just brushing his cock lightly with a toe for just a minute. He was starting to get hard. I moved my foot down again, planning to tease him for a long time.

Phone sex. It had been years since we had phone sex. Our phone calls from my lonely hotel room at night had degenerated into perfunctory wishes that I was back home and summaries of our respective days. I missed the sultry sound of his voice as he was coaxing me into a fantasy. The way his voice would get low and raspy as he was touching himself, getting closer and closer to coming. The whole sordid urgency of the way it had used to be, that we were so hot for each other, so much in lust that we couldn't wait a single day for it. I swallowed. I was getting hard just from the memory of it.

"I think maybe any kind of contact that involves both of us coming should count. But I, uh," Fox had chosen this moment to slip his foot up into my crotch and he teased me with the ball of his foot. I found this somewhat distracting, to say the least. "What I mean to say is, I bought a box of condoms. I think maybe it might be a good thing to see how many of them we can use before the twenty-one days are up."

"Oh yeah?" Fox's eyes sparkled like I hadn't seen them sparkle in too long. We used condoms just for intercourse. For everything else, we were both clean, had been monotonous, uh, monogamous for years. But after a particularly bad UTI that Fox got once, we stuck with condoms for anal sex.

"Oh, yeah, buddy boy," I said. "I'm thinking tonight you got a pretty darn good chance at nailing me to the mattress."

It'd been months and I wanted that bad. I'd been thinking about it for weeks. Craving it.

The waitress took her own sweet time getting our food to us. As she dropped plates carelessly on the table in front of us, getting our orders mixed up, she said, "I don't know what you two are bitching about. May as well risk a burger. Nothing in this world is safe anymore." Mentally, I reduced her tip again.

"I wouldn't say that. I'd say it's a safe bet that I'm getting laid tonight," Fox said as he twisted his foot just so, in a very distracting kind of way. The waitress gave Fox a look that let me know in no uncertain terms that she thought it was a real waste that it was my crotch he had his foot on, then she stalked off. Fox burst into first brief laughter, then a wicked grin. Then the foot went back to work again. I grabbed it to hold it still.

"Martin David Fox, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get me to come in my pants like some kid."

His only answer was a continued grin.

We couldn't finish dinner fast enough for me.

Day Two:

I escaped the office in the late afternoon and got home before it was dark even. Fox was nowhere in evidence except as a closed door with a tie draped over the handle. I thought I took this in pretty good humor. I mean, I only kicked the door once. Not that he'd hear it anyway. You could light a bomb under his ass when he was like this. Maybe it was a bad idea to start this twenty-one day plan thing while he was on a writing bender. I could have waited a month or two until the first draft of the novel was finished. Second drafts just never commanded the same amount of attention from him.

I went down and started dinner. Six o'clock, no sign of Fox. Seven o'clock. No sign of Fox. I ate and made up a plate for him and stuck that and the leftovers in the fridge. I cleaned the kitchen. Had a poptart for dessert. One of the new ecto-green colored ones that Fox insisted we had to try then failed to eat any of. I'm sort of a traditionalist. Cherry or brown sugar. If I closed my eyes it just tasted vaguely of artificial berry flavor. Eight o'clock, and still no sign of Fox. I settled myself in the living room in front of the television and thought merry little thoughts about strangling the man. Nine thirty rolled around and I went upstairs and did something I never did. We're talking dangerous territory I was walking into here, but hell, I was a Marine. Danger is our stock in trade, right?

I knocked on the door to his study. No answer. I knocked harder then called through the door, "Hey, Fox? Did you forget we have a date?"

No answer, so I tried the handle. I hadn't once opened the door on him since we'd hammered out terms when he first moved in here, years and years ago. Those were some days of fierce arguments. I always respected his space since then. I never walked in on him when he was working, just like he never called me at work. I was almost surprised to find out it wasn't locked. I opened the door cautiously. He wasn't typing, he was reading something on the screen, scrolling through page after page. The pile of sunflower seed shells on his desk was enormous and in general, the room was littered with the detritus of creation. Empty mugs and glasses on every flat surface, same for plates of mostly ignored food. As he turned I could see that he was wearing that pair of little round reading glasses that made him look so young and cute. He wore nothing else. Fox never did when he was in the midst of novel writing. His more factual stuff, he wrote completely dressed. I could always tell what he was working on by how he was dressed when he left his office. You could tell it was novel writing time just by the piles and piles of discarded clothes all over the room. I left myself a mental reminder to nag at him about getting some of those down so I could wash them, both the clothes and the dishes. Meanwhile, once I ticked that off my list, I could put my mind on other things. Like his naked body. I could still feel myself practically glowing from last night, despite my irritation at being kept waiting all evening. Despite the fact that we hadn't lasted long enough for him to fuck me like I was hoping.

Surprisingly, he wasn't mad at me for disturbing him. "Hey," he said. "I'm pretty much through here. I was about to join the world again. Have a seat."

He gestured at a nearby arm chair. I pushed a printout of a novel draft off it and sat down. But instead of letting him get back to work, I reached out for his hand and pulled him to me. He sprawled out of his chair and on top of me. I kissed him before he could protest. Yeah, Fox is damn fine kisser. That's the one thing about being with someone for the long haul. They know all your buttons and just how to press them. Sure, sometimes that isn't such a good thing, but these particular buttons he was pressing were connected directly to my cock.

Pretty soon, his hands were moving up and down my sides, on my abdomen for a bit, then kneading the particular spot on my neck and shoulders that always caused my dick to get stone hard. Like I said, he knew which buttons to press. My kissing wasn't doing the same for him, but I was not going to be dissuaded. I reached down and started a gentle massage on his cock, just a tugging of the loose skin and rubbing up and down. Soon enough, he was half hard and getting harder. I moved my lips from his lips, down his chin, and along his jawline, only vaguely aware that Fox hadn't shaved today and I was probably getting whisker burn. I nibbled at his left earlobe. For some reason, it's got to be the left one. The right one does absolutely nothing for him. He gasped a little as I bit down softly. Then he was suddenly completely hard. I was going straight for the kill, so to speak. The phone rang. I ignored it. If it was important, they'd call back. I was not going to be sidetracked by some telemarketer. If it was work, they'd have called my cell phone. Not that I would have answered that either.

I traveled southwards with my mouth again, lingering only a little while at his nipples. His chest tasted salty, sweaty and of something that can only be Fox. I did linger at his armpits, smelling them, sniffing at them, drawing in big breaths of his scent. Kind of sour, unbathed, but still arousing. Heavenly. I loved his smell. He was squirming as I wriggled down under him.

"Tickles," he said, just barely able to concentrate.

I know, I thought, then changed tactics. A little effort and I was able to flip our positions, so he was sliding off the easy chair and I was on top, about to go down on him. As I was about to slip his cock into my mouth he said, "Uh-uh. Bedroom. Condoms. Lube."

"Right here," I said, pulling them out of the pocket of the jeans I'd changed into earlier. Like a good boy scout, I was prepared. I tore open the little foil packet and started rolling its contents down on his dick.

"Hey!" he mock protested. "Maybe I want to be the one getting fucked tonight."

"Poor baby! Like you hate topping me so much," I said and kept rolling on the condom, taking plenty of time, rubbing as I went. I took the head of it in my mouth, trying not to grimace at the taste of latex. And then Fox didn't say another word for a while. Every time I paused to glance up at his eyes, they were heavy with lust and he was so sex stupid that I knew he wasn't able to do anything but breathe and maybe run his finger through my hair a little. Suddenly, he pushed me off and I let him flip me over, face down onto the chair.

"Why, Mister Doggett, I do believe you're wearing far too many clothes," he said. I was inclined to agree. My erection was pressing hard against the seam of my jeans and it'd been a difficult time trying to find a position that was comfortable. He reached around behind me and unbuttoned my jeans, then yanked down the zipper. They were soon around my ankles and Fox was working on getting my shirt off. Then I felt a tickling, warm wetness between my ass cheeks and it was my turn to be fuck dumb. That's one of the things about being with someone for a decade and a half. They know that all it takes to turn you into a spineless puddle of goo is a good rimming. And I was. Oh, yes. This was exactly what I'd been missing all this time.

Then he put a slick, lubed hand on my dick and started rubbing. I thought just maybe I'd gone to heaven. I nearly came the instant the first finger went into me. But he knew me all too well and squeezed at just the right spot hard enough to make it impossible for me to come. I was seriously torn between thinking him a bastard because that was not comfortable in a big way and thanking him for drawing it out longer. I would have been disappointed to come so quickly.

"Sorry," he said. "But both of us are good for just one shot these days and I want to make sure it counts."

But little while later, both of us ready, he eased his cock into me, then cried out, "Shit!" and stiffened against me. The bastard came just as soon as he'd entered me, leaving me hanging. Then he slumped against my back and neck, muttering, "Sorry. Shit. I'm sorry."

"Quit apologizing and get busy," I demanded.

With that he reached around and grabbed my cock in his hand. Just a few minutes of hard rubbing and I didn't care anymore that he'd come before me. Oh, no, I was a very happy camper indeed. But when both of us were cuddled together afterwards, propped up against the chair, he rested his head on my shoulder and said, softly, "I'm sorry. I think maybe this twenty-one day plan of yours is a great idea. I'm obviously out of practice. Too used to only the sensations of Rosie Palm and her five daughters. I'm sorry. For the way things have been between us."

"It'll get better," I promised. The way I figured, it'd taken us years to fall out of the practice of being lovers. Two nights was obviously not enough to get us back to where we used to be. "Shower then bedtime?"

Clean and naked, we slipped in between the sheets together. This was probably my favorite part about being with Fox, both of us curled on our sides together, him on the outside, me on the inside of the spoon, his arm wrapped securely around my belly. Nothing in this world could be entirely bad if I could go to sleep like this, if not every night, then at least most nights. "Love you, Fox," I told him, like I always did.

"Love you, John," he said as he pulled me a little closer. We shared the same pillow and for the moment, all was right with the world. First one, then two little furry bodies settled into the bed with us. Sophie near Fox's head, Dale in the hollow created by my drawn up knees. Once everyone was in place, I could sleep.

Day Three

Fox met me at the door. He was dressed just in jeans, and still towelling off wet hair. I was a little late, no emergencies at work, just bad traffic. He wrapped the towel around my neck and pulled me close. Some beads of water still pearled on his chest and he smelled good and clean. When he kissed me, his mouth tasted of mint toothpaste and sunflower seeds. I had many happy thoughts about what might happen tonight. Or even right now if I could just maneuver him upstairs.

"Busy writing day?" I asked when he set me free. I reluctantly allowed him to pull out of my arms and start towelling dry again.

"No, got shit all done. Hey, I heard from Walt today."

"Really? I thought they didn't have phones on Bali or Fiji or wherever it is he's at."

"The Marquesas. And no, he called from Dulles. I guess the whole South Seas thing got boring. I was on my way to go pick him up. He's got some kind of consulting job lined up already. He wanted to know if he could stay with us for a while until he got an apartment. I told him we'd be delighted."

"Oh, peachy," I said.

Fox never noticed that my face must have fallen right to my knees. He turned and ran back upstairs to finish getting dressed. Fox might have been delighted. But this did not bode well for our plans to revive our sex life. Not in the slightest. Walter S. Skinner as a houseguest for an unknown quantity of time and the twenty-one day plan had no place in each other's reality.

Don't get me wrong. I like Walt, always did. Respected the hell out of him once. He was still a good friend and always would be. But having the man sleeping in our guest bedroom was always a guaranteed erection wilting experience for me. Part of it was the way that despite the fact he was only about ten years older than me, he reminded me so much of my father. Part of it was that you could tell, that even now, that while he accepted, and on some level even approved of Fox's and my relationship, he never really understood how it happened that his two favorite male agents had ended up, not just in bed together, but, well, married. To each other. He would have had an easier time with it if it was just the sex, I'm sure. A man might suck another man's dick or fuck him senseless. That was just sex and most men would fuck anything that moved, right? But real men did not pick up the dry cleaning for each other or massage each other's sore feet at the end of the day. And me and Fox were so domestic you just about puke sometimes.

Not that he ever said a damn thing or did anything that made us doubt his friendship. But every now and then I would catch him looking at me with something that could only be called confusion in his eyes. It just didn't make sense to him that I was the one who scooped the cat litter for Fox's cats. Our cats. It was almost as if he could understand this kind of behavior from Fox. Afterall, one grew to expect just about anything from Fox. But me? I was supposed to be just like Walt. Marines. Law degree. Slow and steady rise through the echelons of the FBI until I'd risen to the top levels and then finally took a generous retirement. Instead I'd ended up bailing tree huggers out of jail and as a certified, in your face cocksucker who didn't care that the world knew. Just like I was to my father, I was a disappointment to Walt.

I stayed at home to cook dinner and remake the bed in the guest room. Walt and Fox walked in about the time I was finishing up with the salad. They were laughing at some old joke. Walt was disgustingly healthy and tan looking. Retirement had agreed with him so well that I had momentary thoughts about chucking the treehuggers and taking off with Fox for somewhere tropical. But, I'd get bored far faster than Walt had, probably. And the tree-huggers needed me. It was good to do something useful, to feel like one of the good guys.

Sometime over dinner he asked, jokingly, "So, have you saved the rainforest yet, John?"

"No, but you probably missed the fact that ADM-Con Agra finally went under last year, partially due to court costs and plummeting stock prices what with all the bad publicity," I said. A small victory, really, but it was small victories that kept us going.

"Weren't they..."

"No, at least we could never prove they were in the conspiracy up to their eyeballs. That's just a strong hunch on Fox's part."

And so it went for hours, with too much talk about old times and the definite prospect of neither enough sleep nor any sex for yours truly. Finally, Walt was stashed away in the guest bedroom and I was spooning up next to Fox.

Then he was nuzzling my ear and snaking a hand up the t-shirt I'd worn to bed. I pushed his hand right back out again.

Fox sounded hurt when he said, "Hey, what about our twenty-one day plan?"

"I can't," I hissed quietly. "Not with him just on the other side of the wall."

Fox knew of my inability to perform with Walt in the house. It'd come up as a topic for discussion before, the first time Walt visited. We'd always just remained celibate before when Walt was around, but then, Walt had never stayed more than a couple of nights before.

"Downstairs on the sofa? Is that far enough away for you?"

"He might walk down, looking for something." I said. That would be beyond embarrassing. Getting caught on the sofa like some teenager. By Walt.

"I know. The hammock," Fox said. He sounded so sure of himself that for a moment I went along with him, picturing the two of us in the back yard, making out like teenagers in the rope hammock that Fox insisted we had to have. Then I came to my senses.

"What? Right out in the back yard where the neighbors can see? I know you're crazy, but that's just too much."

"It's one am. It's a new moon. If we turn the lights out, no one is going to be able to see anything. You know you've always wanted to."

And so Fox talked me an act that might conceivably get us convictions for public indecency, should we get caught at it. Not just talked me into it, but got me hard just with anticipation of the act. We tiptoed down the hallway, carrying a blanket and a couple of pillows, shushing each other and laughing like kids. We necked a while on the back deck before settling ourselves carefully into the hammock, blanket draped over us for a little privacy. His hands were into my shorts immediately, teasing and stroking me. I couldn't help moaning as he griped me tightly and started rubbing in earnest. I was gagged quite effectively by Fox's mouth kissing me, plunging his tongue into my mouth. Oh, yeah, had to be quiet. Didn't want to wake the neighbors.

Meanwhile, my hands had found their way into his shorts and tugged them down just barely enough so that they were out of the way. His dick was hard, weeping with pre-cum. Part of it was feeling like a naughty kid again, worrying that I might get caught at any second, part of it was how eager Fox was, but either way, I was rock hard. So was Fox. The night air of mid June was cool on the parts of my bare skin that were exposed as the blanket we'd covered ourselves with got slowly kicked out of the way. The metal frame of the hammock was bouncing. Should someone look over the fence, even in the dark, there would be no doubt in their mind whatsoever as to what we were doing.

The deck light came on. We froze. I think Fox must have murmured, "Shit!" very softly. I waited in agony for the back door to creak open and someone, namely Walt, to step out onto the deck. It didn't happen though. Another second that felt like an eternity later, the light flicked off, plunging us into darkness again.

Then Fox was laughing like a maniac against the side of my neck. It tickled and suddenly, I was laughing too. Then somewhere in the laughter, we remembered that we'd been making love and still laughing, we started touching again. It was slower this time. I had to catch up to Fox again, because in those few seconds of the light being on, my erection had flagged a little. Suddenly, instead of naughty and frantic, the lovemaking was sweet and tender. He touched me gently and his kisses were no longer just to stopper my moans. I touched him back just as tenderly, but oddly, I was still laughing as he hit just the right rhythm and then I was gasping, mostly silently, and I came. He pressed his mouth to the side of my neck and clamped on to suppress the sound of his own coming.

I snuggled against him; let my eyes close a little while. I gave one last little chuckle for some reason as I buried my nose in his hair and wrapped my arms around his chest. I was perfectly content for just this moment in time. Fox must have felt the same because he didn't say anything at all either. We didn't even bother to pull our minimal clothing together.

The next thing I remember was a snort from Walt. It was early morning, the sky was solid gray and the tree branches were tossing in a breeze that was going at a pretty good clip. The air smelled wet, like it was fixing to rain. Fox was snoring in my ear. I nudged him off me and attempted to nonchalantly pull up my shorts, which were still in disarray.

"I figured you two probably wanted to come in before the rain starts, rather than being woken by it," Walt said. He was all but smirking, the bastard. He held up the mug he had in his hand. "Coffee's ready when you are."

Then thankfully, he turned back to the house, allowing me to wake up Fox and assemble what was left of my dignity. As we pulled ourselves together and I rubbed at the pressure marks left by the ropes of the hammock on my bare ass, I asked Fox, "Just how long did you tell Walt he could stay?"

"As long as he wanted. I figure he won't be here longer than a week, maybe two or three."

"Three weeks! What were you thinking?!" I wasn't quite enraged, but definitely I was indignant. As usual, Fox took my anger with aplomb. He hauled himself out of the hammock first, then pulled up his shorts. His only answer was a graceful shrug. I followed him out of the hammock, silently cursing the bastard not just for inviting a house guess without consulting me, but for moving so easily after an awkward night in the hammock. I felt like I was moving like an old man. My back hurt and my arm was asleep where Fox had been using it as a pillow. We couldn't stay out in the yard and argue though. As I glared at Fox, big, fat drops of water started to hit, then it poured. We raced for the shelter of the house together.

"This argument is not over!" I promised just as we reached the door.

Day Four:

At the office today, everyone did a double take as they looked at me. Only Jilly had the courage to grin at me wickedly and say, "That's a beaut, John."

I'd taken the time to ice it down a little, because it hurt, darn it, but the hickey that Fox had left on my neck was still quite visible. Up near my ear, there was no way that my shirt collar could have covered it. I tried to take it as compliment that he'd bitten down so hard. Thankfully, I didn't have any court dates today. If I did, I probably would have had to kill Fox.

I didn't blush under Jilly's scrutiny, I don't think. But she laughed at me anyway and said, "It's a beautiful thing, it truly is. It does my heart good to see how much you love Martin."

"And how do you know this is Martin?" I challenged. "I could have gone out and gotten me a young and pretty new boyfriend. Or girlfriend."

"Because I know you. I've seen you work. When you plan a covert operation, you leave no trace, no sign that you've been there, other than an achieved objective. If you were having an affair, there's no way in hell you would have let your boytoy leave a hickey for Martin to discover. Besides, you'd never do that to Martin. I know you. You're as guileless as a big old hound dog. And you love Martin. You always get this little grin on your face when you talk about him. Look, you're doing it now."

I tried to look serious and failed. As I smiled I wondered why I didn't go out searching for action elsewhere when my sex life with Fox had gone on hiatus. I would have been hardly any effort at all to find some fresh new dick with no strings attached and hardly much more effort to find a woman. But I'd never wanted that. It was Fox I loved and wanted. When I'd felt deprived, it wasn't just for sex, but specifically and only for sex with Fox.

"Anyway, I came here because I've got this idea for an action."

Of course. Jilly never paid purely social visits. "So, what's your plan? How much will it cost us? And what laws will you be flouting this time?"

"Well, considering how many laws our mark is flouting day in and day out, I think a little destruction of property is the only fitting response. But I don't plan to get caught. No courts, no press, just a quick in, destroy some pipes that aren't on any of the plans, and out again. You wanna join in?"

"Delaware?" I asked. Jilly nodded. "I thought something was up when all they could pin on you was trespassing. You were reconning the area."

She nodded again. "Not Dow. That new petroleum company I was telling you about. Their spanky new refinery that's supposed to be the model of modern, non-polluting manufacturing. I've got the drop on them. In order to control the fires I'll cause, they'll have to own up to those pipes."

"I'll think about it, Jilly. Martin hates it when I go on these late night hunting expeditions."

"Don't think too long. I've got to assemble a team. I'm thinking sometime next week."

"I'll let you know day after tomorrow or sooner." I thought strongly about just telling her yes, without consulting Fox. Afterall, hadn't someone just invited a guest into our house, my house if you wanted to get really bitchy about it, for three weeks or longer without consulting me. I was owed a little back. I didn't though. Escalating arguments like that was just a really stupid way to draw them out longer than was necessary. Really stupid when I had the twenty-one day plan in mind. Hard to get good nookie when you're fighting. And going on a mission which very well might get me thrown in jail or even killed just was not on the same scale as a houseguest, no matter how irritated I was.

"Give me some hard figures," I told her before she left my office. "Something that will convince me this is worthwhile. You know what the stakes are if I get caught and arrested."

They were pretty high. I could get disbarred at the very least and while I wouldn't suffer other than being bored by having to take an early retirement, the tree-huggers would be missing out on a lot.

I made it home pretty early. I suspected that if I wanted to catch Fox alone, with Walt hopefully gone off apartment hunting or something, I'd better get home early. Fox was in the kitchen, sink full of suds and dishes, making good time getting them clean. He'd obviously cleared his studio. In the background, I could hear the washing machine going too. Fox was talking, out loud and animatedly, seemingly to no one.

I say seemingly. Fox talks to dead people.

I don't mean he talks to them in his imagination like you talk to yourself. I mean he stands there and has out loud conversations with them. They're right there, at least for him. I've never seen anything. I always say dead people, not ghosts. To my best knowledge, they aren't what you normally call ghosts. They don't haunt anywhere. They don't talk to anyone but Fox. They don't have unfinished business here on this earth. They just talk with Fox, so he says, because they love him and miss him. They help him when he needs it.

I know. A big part of me doesn't believe it either. I still wouldn't believe it except for the fact that he doesn't just talk with them. He can touch them. They sometimes give him things. Actual physical objects. Notes with names, addresses on them. Once, one of those little USB drives, the kind that is smaller than your palm. It had information on it that turned out to be crucial to the struggle. I saw it just appear in his hands one day.

So, Fox talks to dead people. I'd always thought that it would stop when the struggle was won. Nope, they still talk to him, though they haven't given him any USB drives lately.

Today he appeared to be talking about his latest novel with one of them. "So, do you think it's too banal for the guy to just bash him over the head, tie him up and search the studio for the missing batch of negatives?" he was asking an empty patch of linoleum about five feet away from him.

He laughed at whatever the reply had been. I smiled at him. True, he was acting like a crazy man, but I was used to that, and he was positively beautiful right at this moment. A patch of sunlight, the earlier rain had cleared away by noon, illuminated him as he stood at the sink. The silver that had invaded his brown hair over the years seemed almost to sparkle in the light. He was still dressed in novel writing clothes, which is to say, nothing. Obviously he'd either forgotten about Walt, or didn't plan for Walt to be back for a while. He looked up at me.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I said. I wrapped myself around him and kissed him. Then I indicated the empty patch of lino with a nod of my head. "Who's here?"

"Monica."

I breathed in sharply. It still always kind of hurt to know that she was gone to me forever. I spent a good part of the time from when Fox first left me to go on the run to when he came back to me, thinking I was in love with Monica. Probably nothing ever would have come of it, because I'd never forgotten Fox. Still, I had my regrets. Had a long time since then to work through my regrets, but I still had them. She died in the struggle, like a lot of other good people. Why couldn't Fox have been talking to Alex Krycek or something? I buried my face in his neck for a moment then pulled myself away from Fox.

"Tell her I love her," I said. This was a routine. I always told him to tell her that whenever he was talking with her.

"I don't need to tell her," Fox said, gently. He knew. We'd talked about this time and again. He didn't grudge me my love for Monica any more than I grudged him the thing he had for Alex. "She knows and she can hear you. She says to give you this."

Then he kissed me gently on the cheek. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine it was her. I imagined I smelled that perfume that she always used to wear, spicy and deep. It didn't really ever get easier, did it? Maybe if I could talk to her like Fox did. I bolted. "Hey, I had to bring some work home with me," I lied. I made for the doorway, intending to head on to my own office, then remembered that Walt was using it as a guest room at the moment.

Fox understood. He didn't try and follow me. I knew that if I set up in the living room, at least spread some papers on the coffee table, at least pretend to work, he wouldn't bug me. Before you pass judgement on me and call me an old fool for mourning so long a woman that I never even made love to, I think it would be fair to say that rolled up in my emotions about her were all the rest of what I felt about the struggle, the things we'd had to do, the danger we'd faced. What can I say? Fox wrote novel after novel to dredge through his emotions. I just got moody and sad anytime Monica's name was mentioned, like now. I was curled up in a corner of the old leather sofa, a file held before me that I decidedly wasn't reading.

Fox wisely gave me about an hour of time by myself. Enough to fully immerse myself in my feelings, without feeling like they'd over whelm me. Then he popped into the living room, not yet dressed, and he said, "I think maybe an hour is long enough, don't you? It's not like you don't work hard enough for those people on every other night. I bribed Scully to invite Walt over for dinner with her and the kids. I figure we have another two, three hours before he's back. I made a snack."

Then Fox set the plate that I finally noticed he was carrying down on top of the coffee table, pushing my papers away carefully. I let him loosen my tie then feed me sliced apples and small wedges of cheddar cheese. He pushed the fruit into my mouth and then his fingers afterwards, making me suck on them a while before withdrawing them. He didn't let me feed him, but instead, insisted that I let him pamper me.

"You don't have to..." I protested, realizing what he was doing, trying to draw me out of my funk by main force.

"Yes, I do, John. How often do you come home to a closed office door? Then you cook dinner by yourself and then try and tempt me out of my office to eat it. You deserve a little TLC."

After that, I didn't protest anymore. I just tried to lie back and enjoy it. Not easy for me. But the cheddar was sharp and delicious and the apples perfectly crisp, sweet and juicy. When I was done with them, Fox licked my face clean, causing me to both smile and think wicked thoughts. Then he was kissing me with obvious intent.

"Mister Doggett," he asked when he finally released me. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me upstairs?"

"Anything you say, Fox," I responded. I'd thought at first maybe he'd try and take me on the couch, but I was kind of glad he didn't. We're getting a little old for the kind of athletics that had happened last night in the hammock. My neck was still kind of stiff. The bed was much easier on me.

He led me upstairs by the hand. He hadn't just cleaned out his office today. He'd taken the time to make the bed and dust and clean the bedroom. I liked that, like he was thinking about us having a nice, clean, distraction free place to make love. I liked the thought of him planning this encounter. It was sweet. He'd even picked up my suits from the dry cleaner. The bags were hanging from the closet door.

As he kissed me, he carefully slid my jacket off my shoulders, then went to hang it off the back of a chair. Each piece of clothing he took off me followed this pattern. A thorough and delicious kiss, then once he'd divested me of a particular piece of clothes, he took the time to dispose of it neatly. Finally, I was naked and already half hard.

"I want you to make love to me," he said, wrapping me in his arms and turning me to the bed. We melted onto the bed, kissing and caressing each other. I noticed that the lube and condoms were already sitting out in the open, right on top of the plaid comforter. Yes, he'd definitely planned this.

"Oh, God, Fox," I gasped as he started grinding his erection against mine. We spent an hour, I don't know, maybe longer, touching each other's bodies. All I know is the daylight in the window started to fade to sunset and we were still at it. He kissed nearly every square inch of my skin, I swear it. Not that he didn't know where everyone one of sensitive spots was already, but he wanted to draw this out, make it last. He ignored my erection until it was torturous, until he was finally rolling a condom down onto to me.

I hadn't been ignoring him, not in the least, and by the time he did this, he was ready to go. I'd spent a lot of time teasing gently, opening him as gradually as possible. I think maybe it'd been months, almost a year, since I'd done this to him. Too long. I vowed to take him more often, not demand to be the bottom all the time. I tried to roll him over onto his back, but he resisted. "Uh-uh, just lie back and enjoy yourself," he said. Then he climbed on top of me and eased himself onto my aching cock.

If I believed in the same God as my parents did, right then I might have been saying things like, "Oh, Lord Jesus, that's good."

And it was. Good enough to make a preacher kick a hole in a stained glass window. He was tight around me, a delicious pressure. We'd slathered on an impossibly lot of lube, so everything was slick and moved easily, and he hadn't forgotten how to make the process easy on himself, how to relax at the moment of penetration, how to breathe, how to know when he was ready to start moving. We made love looking each other in the eye. I loved this. I could see when his eyes softened with tenderness, when his arousal was at it peak, when I could increase my pace without setting him off too soon. Then finally, he could hold it no longer and he moaned loudly and threw his head back in blissful abandonment. I followed him mere moments later. He kissed me, hard like before, but it seemed to be a thank you. Then he rolled off of me. He hopped out of bed right after and the bed felt too large immediately.

Soon, though, he had returned with a warm damp washcloth. He cleaned us both off and disposed of the condom. Then he crawled back into bed with me and as always, he held me in a spoon, chin on my shoulder, arms around my belly. I was so relaxed that I was sorely tempted to fall asleep.

"Do you ever have any regrets?" he asked. "That you're not with a woman, you know."

Every now and then, Fox got like this. Got all worried that I wasn't satisfied with what I had, that I would want a woman instead of him. In particular, it happened when Monica made one of her appearances to Fox and I found out about it.

I had regrets that I never told her how I felt when she was alive,I thought. I regret that I never made love to her. When I know just how sweet love making can be. I regret that it's taken Fox and his strange abilities to talk to the dead to get me to admit all of this. Fox knew all of this. We'd talked about it again and again. That's another one of the pleasures of a long running relationship, the ability to rehash the same arguement or discussion again and again. It didn't matter now. Fox already knew exactly what I was thinking.

"No, not a regret in the world," I told him, intertwining my fingers with his. I pulled his hand to my lips and kissed it, slowly, one knuckle at a time. "I love you. Why would I need anything else?"

Day Five

Ah, Saturday. Best day of the week. I know I'd talked about us getting a lawn service, but a big, rebellious part of me didn't want to and actually liked taking care of the grass. Of course, it was a little less pleasureable since the tree-huggers had talked me into turning in the gas powered mower for an electric one. But despite that, I loved turning the yard into tidy, neatly clipped swaths of perfect velvet greenness.

Fox had gotten out of helping me by the simple expedient of waking up before I did and slipping into his office and shutting the door. Of course, the tie was on the door handle. I didn't grudge him though. When he's at work, he works hard.

Finished up with various tasks inside and outside the house, I headed upstairs to change into grubbier clothes yet for a few happy hours underneath the hood of the truck. Okay, so maybe I'd given in a little to the tree-huggers and it wasn't quite as big a truck as the ones I used to drive. And it had one of the new fuel-cell hybrid engines. Not as powerful, but got a respectable forty miles to the gallon. And it being a different technology, that gave me even more chances to tinker.

As I was digging in a drawer for something that was already oil stained, the phone rang. I didn't reach it quite it time. Walt got it. He listened for a moment then handed it to me wordlessly.

"Hello?" I said, innocently enough. I hadn't a clue yet as to the disaster that was about to happen. Or rather, had happened and was just about to start affecting me.

"Where is he?" Scully demanded. "Put him on the phone now."

"Fox is writing. You know I can't disturb him. What's up, Dana?"

"You and that man will come down here and get the boy this instant or I swear to God I will shoot him first then come after the two of you!"

She sounded a little...overwrought to say the least. I didn't have to ask to know who the boy was. William had grown up to be a thoughtful, studious boy, quiet and odd sometimes, but a good boy. On the other hand, Scully and Fox had had a second son. One miracle baby is bad enough, but they'd had two. And Charlie John Scully, as he was known, was hell on wheels. I'd have said nothing was wrong with the boy that a few trips out to the woodshed with a switch, like my old man used on me on occasion, wouldn't solve. Except I'd seen the exact same kind of child rearing Scully used on Charlie produce a boy like his brother Billy. My own mother had once said, "That boy has the very devil in him." Sometimes I think she might be right. After all, this is the child that, at age nine, took apart a two thousand-dollar plasma flat screen television to see what was inside.

Scully and I had our differences, dating back in time to the point where Fox came back to me, or depending on who you ask, I stole him away from her. Still, I did my best to always remain civil with her. It would have done no good at all to alienate the mother of my lover's children, no matter how much I was accused of home wrecking. Never mind that Fox left her long before he came back to me. Actually, she'd started hinting so broadly that it was time for him to leave that he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

"Okay, calm down, Dana. I hope Charlie can't hear you talking that way about him."

"He can't. He's in a holding cell and besides, the nice NSA agent standing next to me just agreed with me that it would be justifiable homocide in any jurisdiction."

NSA? Holding cell? What the hell? I knew the boy was a little too clever for his own good with a computer but I'd have thought he knew better to go hacking into sensitive computers. Guess not. I liked the kid. He reminded me a lot of Fox. So, of course I did. Regardless, I had a few lingering, not so friendly thoughts about opening a big old can of whoop-ass on the boy.

"Calm down, Dana. Where are you? What are they saying he did? Do you know if they're going to try and charge him as an adult?" I was already running scenarios through my head, trying to dredge up any cases I could think of where they'd charge a minor with violations of the Homeland Security acts. Shit. Double shit. What did I ever do to deserve this?

I did my best to listen calmly while Scully filled me in on the details. They were in a federal building in Richmond. It sounded like maybe they were willing to cut some kind of deal. If I'd ever had any doubts that Fox was Charlie's father, they would have been resolved right then. The boy was a chip off the old block. He hadn't broken into any computers. Oh, no, it was better than that. I reassured Scully that we would be down there as soon as we could haul ass to Richmond. Then I hung up and prepared to bring out my inner wicked stepfather. But first, Fox had to be rousted from his cave.

There was no answer to my knock. I rapped harder a second time. Walt looked on as I picked up the phone. I dialed the number to Fox's cell. Sometimes he answered it while he was writing. If he wasn't in too deep. It rang four, five times then finally it picked up. "'lo?" Fox answered, sounding spacey. I'd broken his concentration.

"Hey, buddyboy, did you know our son is being held prelimary to being charged with three separate federal offenses?"

The phone was dropped abruptly. A second later, the door was flung open and Fox appeared in the door. When he realized Walt was in the hall, looking on, Fox darted back into the office and came out again, wearing shorts and pulling on a t-shirt. Then he confronted me. "What? John? You're kidding, right?"

"Do I sound like I'm joking? Trust Charlie never to do things by half measures. Other kids get picked up for a little shoplifting, maybe curfew breaking." I crossed my arms and leaned against the bedroom doorway. Oddly, this was all very funny to me, in a God and the Universe hate you so you may as well laugh before you start crying kind of way. "Your son, should we believe the federal agents who have him in custody, committed grand theft auto, drove the car across the state line from Maryland to Virginia, then proceeded to try and break into a secure department of defense building. I guess this is kind of a grand old tradition in your family, but as I recall, you usually didn't get caught."

"Fuck. Shit. Damn." Fox muttered under his breath. He was not particularly surprised. "Maybe I shouldn't have taught him how to pick locks."

"You did what?!"

So much for any half considered plans of kicking Walt out of the house and settling down for a nice afternoon of car races on the tv and necking on the couch.

So much for any plans of any sex for the next three years at a minimum. Scully had made it quite clear that assuming he wouldn't be spending the rest of his life at a federal penitentiary, she couldn't handle Charlie and his little schemes any longer and he would be coming to live with us. The boy obviously needed his father, she'd said. Fox would be thrilled, I was sure. I would have been thrilled, had it happened under better circumstances. For now though, I was going to leave it to Scully to break this little bit of news.

"Do you want me to come with?" Walt asked, concern obvious on his face. Like I said, Walt's a good friend and would do anything for us. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Any chance you're still pals with the attorney general?" I asked.

"Not the current one. But I know some people in the DOJ still. Maybe a good word here or there will help. I'm not sure anyone will buy the youthful spirits, boys will be boys thing here, but it might be worth a try."

Oddly enough, they did, though I'd bet the farm that part of it was that the DOD didn't want it widely known that a fourteen, nearly fifteen year old could breach one of their supposedly secure installations. You know, if we all weren't so damn pissed at the boy, we'd probably be so proud of him that we couldn't speak. Charlie was Fox through and through, with every bit of that wild, intuitive intelligence and the same damn confidence that the world was just a big puzzle that would eventually crack under his manipulation and reveal the truth. He looked a little like Scully. Her sons had proven to me that she was a natural redhead after all, though anyone would forgive me for thinking that she had a little assistance from the bottle in that department. But no, her sons were redheads as well. Billy's hair was just touched with the red, more sort of an auburn. But Charlie was a carrot top. But other than that, looking at him was like looking at a young version of Fox. That same nose, those lips, that lean, lanky body. Charlie, at fourteen, was already taller than Scully and would probably be as tall or taller than Fox.

Eighteen hours later, the whole thing already hushed up between the shame of the DOD and whatever good words Walt had spread around, we were home again. By we, I mean, Fox, Charlie, Walt, Scully and myself. Charlie was unrepentant and sullen. Walt was stoic but obviously bursting with reprimands he didn't think it was his place to deliver. Fox was silently furious, ruminating on what he was going to say. I was already fearing that blowup when it happened. Scully had worn her hysteria out hours ago and lapsed into a wrought silence. I was the only one talking, though I thought I was doing a pretty good job at keeping the worst of it on a leash.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I asked yet again. I'd yet to get an answer that was anything more than a few words mumbled and mashed together, much less acceptable. I wasn't any more hopeful of an answer this time, but you had to give me points for consistancy. Of course I was the big time disciplinarian, when the kids were at our house. Would you expect consistancy from Fox? Brilliance, sure. Outrageous displays of love for his kids all the time. He didn't spoil them, at least not in the usual ways. I saw him once drop five hundred bucks on supplies for a science fair project. But he made Charlie do every bit of the work himself and made the kid revise the summary paper five times. Money didn't exactly flow freely, but all they had to do was haul him into the bookstore and mention something like books for school and Fox would buy the place out. Me, I got to play the wicked stepfather. You know. Is your homework done? That's enough televison. I don't care if every other kid's parents let them do it, you're not going and that's final. That kind of stuff.

Sometimes I wondered, between Fox, myself and Walt popping in and out of all our lives through the years if the kid's problem wasn't a lack of a significant father figure in his life, but too damn many father figures, two of them severely authoritarian. And Fox with his weird kind of mode of dealing with authority. He could always be swayed by a well-presented, logically proven argument, so long as it was presented well, with no errors in either logic nor in initial premises. Take for example an essay that Fox once had Charlie write- "Why I should be allowed to drive the car even though Virginia state law will not permit me to do so legally until I am 18." Of course, Fox rejected the proposal, but I swear he actually seriously considered it for a while before finding a flaw in one of the premises. He was raising a pair of lawyers is what he was doing. And I should know.

Charlie finally mumbled a response to my question. "What was that?" I asked. I could sort of hear what he'd said, but I wanted him to repeat it aloud.

"I said, what's your problem? I'm off the hook," he said somewhat more clearly.

"Oh, no, buddy. Your Uncle Walt may have pulled some strings so that you didn't get charged in the first place, but you are so not off the hook I don't even know where to start," I said. "For starters, you're under house arrest until you can prove that you can walk out the door without doing such a damn fool thing like that crap you just pulled. We'll talk tomorrow about how you're going to earn back the money to pay off the damage you did to that poor woman's car. Now, go to your room before I really get angry. And if you ever break and enter a Federal building again, I don't care what your father and mother think about corporal punishment, your ass will be so sore you'll never be able to sit down again."

What can I say? I yell because I care.

He sighed and retreated with great injured dignity to the room that we kept here for him and his brother. I wondered if maybe I should have been doing even more wicked stepfathering over the years. But we only got the boys for part of the summer and some of the holidays. We used to have them over every other weekend, until they decided they had cooler things to do than hang out with old farts like us. I watched him climb up the stairs, kicking each tread as he went. Only Fox's son would have to be threatened not to break into Federal buildings.

It was two in the morning by now and suddenly the house seemed very crowded. The adults were all sitting around the living room just staring at each other. We didn't know what to say to each other at this point. We'd been talking until we were blue in the face all day. I finally chimed in, "I think it's bedtime. Dana, why don't you take our bed, and me and Fox will sleep on the pullout in his office."

And so we found ourselves on the sofa bed in Fox's office. At least the room had just been cleaned and I could go to sleep without feeling squirrelly about needing to clean it up. But as I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable on a paper thin mattress laid over a couple of steel bars, I cursed the chivalrous instinct which had forced me to give up our bed to the lady. I decided that comfortable just wasn't going to happen so I decided to reach for a different kind of comfort. We could be quiet, I decided. I needed something, who cared if Walt or the boy or anyone was here. I needed this.

Damn him. Fox must have fallen asleep the instant his head hit the rock hard pillows we kept as extras for this sofabed. I even shook him a little but he didn't stir. So Goddamn much for the twenty-one day plan. I vowed not to give up on it though. We'd just have to be a little more creative finding times and places now. I comforted myself as I fell to sleep with all the thoughts of chores I'd be assigning the boy, so to earn back the money we'd paid off the woman with. The one good thing to come out of this. Looked like we wouldn't have to hire a landscaping service or a maid after all.

Day Six

I was nudged awake slowly, by a nuzzling at my ear and by a poking of my ass that could be done by only one thing. I smiled even as I slowly woke up, forgetting at first which bed I was in and the events of yesterday. Eventually though, that reality penetrated into my sleepy, horny mind.

"Charlie..." I started.

"Still sleeping," Fox promised me.

"Shouldn't we wake him up and get started on chores or something?"

"Let him sleep for a while," Fox said, then licked my ear and started pulling down the shorts I'd slept in. His hands were so talented that I didn't realize what he was doing until he had them down around my thighs. "It's only nine-thirty."

"Dana?" I still protested, though it was increasingly difficult to think clearly, what with Fox doing that impression of an octopus man that he does so well.

"Last I saw, she was drinking coffee with Walt in the back yard. I doubt they're going to bother us or even come upstairs."

I relaxed and allowed myself to be fully disrobed and thoroughly kissed. "You have no clue how hot you look when you're half asleep but still begging to be fucked like this," Fox murmured. He was definitely the aggressor here. I was responding, oh, yes. Mr. Happy was getting very happy, but I was also finding it hard to stay awake. I wasn't as young as I used to be and late nights like last night really got to me. Still, my cock twitched when Fox rubbed me possessively and said in a low, sexy growl, "Don't worry. This ass is mine."

Between tiredness and the way Fox was working on me, one hand cradling my balls, the other stroking leisurely up and down my cock, the best response I could give was, "Ummmmm." That was good enough for Fox. He took it to mean he should escalate the situation. I didn't protest when his hand left my balls. I heard the distinctive snap of the lube cap and wasn't surprised a moment later when I was invaded with a finger, then two. Oh, no, not surprised, nor disappointed. Pretty soon, I was on my back, legs around his waist. Not up on his shoulders like we used to, just not that flexible anymore. But I didn't care for the moment about anything but the fact that the man I loved was balls deep inside me. I didn't have to do much of anything but lie back and let him make love to me. He was rapacious and left me in no doubt whatsoever that he wanted me badly. In return, I found myself to be more acquiescent than I ever was normally. I wanted to be ravished, to be taken. I was his. Only his. He could do whatever he wanted with me and all I would have been able to do was murmur, "mmmmm."

We were sweating and he was pounding at me. I thought for a minute we might break the sofa bed. It creaked alarmingly and started swaying with Fox's rhythm. He propped himself on one hand and used the other to match his rhythm with rubbing my cock. Only a little of that and my whole body was tensing, contracting, and I was coming and he was following me. Then we collapsed back into a pool of sweat.

He rested his body weight on me for a while. It was a good weight, solid, reassuring, and we kissed a while longer and I held him close to me, never wanting to let him go. "I love you," he told me softly. I was touched, because he was a lot less profligate with that word than I was, almost never saying it unless I said it first.

Then he said, "Thank you."

"For what? Seems like the thanks should be all yours."

"For loving our son so much. For keeping your temper when he deserves to have his block knocked off. For not even grumbling a bit about him coming to live here. I know I would in your position."

"I didn't really see it as an option."

I truly didn't. I loved that boy as if he were my own. If I thought about it, I was just glad he didn't get himself hurt, doing what he did.

He hugged me tighter for a minute and I didn't care that I was sticky and that as we snuggled we were smearing my cum around on my belly.

"You know," he said after a bit, "As the years go by, I'm starting to feel more and more sympathy for my parents and what they put up with from me. Well, should we go join the rest of the world?"

So we pulled ourselves apart, bit by sticky bit. We left the sofa bed open a while to air out. We'd made it pretty darn damp, what with one thing and another. Conscious of young teenagers in the house as well as other houseguests, we pulled on our shorts and t-shirts on. I grimaced at the thought of getting cum all over my clothes, but what were you gonna do?

We hit the shower together immediately. We took our own sweet time, soaping each other's backs, kissing. Soaping each other's intimate parts. If we were younger men, we'd probably have gone at it again, but as it was, nothing happened. That's fine. The lovemaking we'd just done was more than enough to keep me happy.

Dressed in fresh jeans and t-shirts, we headed down stairs. Walt and Scully were in the kitchen. Scully sitting on a stool, Walt leaning against a counter. They were close and talking softly to each other. "Coffee's ready," Walt said as we approached.

I poured a cup for myself. Fox didn't want any. After a minute, I heard the clomping, stomping sounds of disgruntled teenager coming down the stairs. He hadn't showered and that carrot red hair was sticking out all over the place at odd angles. "I heard you two. That's just disgusting," he accused. "Can't you at least keep it down? There are some things I just don't want to think about."

I was about to get angry or something. Until I realized he wasn't talking to either Fox or me, but was pointing at Scully. And looking accusingly at Walt. I almost laughed when Walt's ears flushed red with embarrassment. Lucky for me, I've had lots of practice keeping a straight face and I didn't react to what he said. I guess Walt and Scully are officially on again. Both Fox and Scully were red in the face too, but out of anger. Walt beat a hasty retreat to the living room or something, forgetting his half full coffee mug.

I decided to act before either one of them blew their top. I could speak with something approaching calm reasonableness. "In this house, young man, you'll speak to your mother with respect. Period. In case you've forgotten, you're in trouble with a capitol T."

He opened his mouth like he was going to sass off, but he got a look, not at my face, but Fox's and decided it wasn't worth it. He definitely was starting to re-evaluate his position. Fox's face was dark with fury. You could forget sometimes how bad Fox's temper could be. It was slow to rouse, but could achieve some truly stunning things.

"I'm taking you home to pack," Scully said to her son. "We'll be back some time this afternoon. We can discuss how he's going to get to school and things like that then."

"He's not going back to that school," Fox pronounced. Charlie went to this exclusive academy in the city itself, supposedly for gifted kids, with a special emphasis on science. It would have been no problem for me to drive him there every morning on my way to the office. "If he's got time to think up crap like this, he's obviously bored there."

"We'll discuss this later...Fox," Scully said. Sometimes, when she's really angry, she finds it hard not to call him Mulder. I guess I probably have more day in day out practice at thinking of him as Fox and Martin than she does. Probably not that important. Every one present knew of his old identity. Even Charlie knew the one time identity of Fox Mulder. Maybe that had inspired this particularly brilliant plan of his, thinking he wanted to be just like dear old dad.

"Who pays for it, Dana? And who's house is he going to be living at?"

"He's still my son."

"Our son," I said, stepping between the two of them. "She's right. We'll discuss it later."

The complex dance of relationship between the three of us had never been easy at the best of times. The four of us, I supposed, if Walt was back. Now we were teetering on the edge of acrimony. There'd be a lot of harsh words between Fox and Scully before this was settled.

"Shut up, John," Scully said. "Quite frankly, this has nothing to do with you. This is between me and my son's father."

Twist the knife a little more, why don't you, Scully? Forget about harsh words between her and Fox. Any more of this and there'd be gunfire exchanged between her and me. This was all the same usual crap we argued about; only it was a bit more fraught considering the circumstances. Ah, yes, one of the joys of a long-term relationship with someone is carrying around their baggage. Including ex-wives who can be a real bitch sometimes.

"This is every bit as much his business as it is mine," Fox piped in.

"Shut up all of you!" Charlie decided it was time to pipe up. "Stop talking about me like I'm not even here."

Of course, Scully and Fox didn't even look up. They were going at it without paying attention to anyone else. I didn't bother to listen. By this point, it had degenerated into standard Fox and Scully argument number 107. And neither of them had anything particularly new or interesting to add.

"Charlie," I said. "Come out back with me, I want to talk to you."

He made a face but followed me out to the deck. "Sit," I told him then pointed at a chair. The day was lovely, I decided. Just perfect. Warm but not stifling hot, with a little breeze. The sky a flawless blue. And here I was having to spend it with my lover and his ex-wife arguing to raise the dead and my stepson scowling at me like I just peed on his cinnamon toast.

"We yell because we care, you know," I said, as I took the chair opposite him. "All of us are worried like hell. You're damn lucky to be alive, doing what you did. Those MPs that found you are probably up in front of their CO this morning because they didn't follow orders. They're supposed to shoot on sight, ask questions later. I guess they must have seen you're just a kid, but you're lucky. Do you understand that? They should have shot you. Not would have. Should have."

He mumbled something that vaguely like yes. I know he didn't really understand. No teenager truly comprehends that death could be lurking just around the corner, for real and for forever. I remembered how it was, thinking I was immortal. That didn't really change until a building in Beirut was suddenly falling down around my ears one day and I woke up in a hospital, one of the ones lucky to be alive.

"So do you mind telling me just what exactly made you pull this stunt? I for one would really appreciate a straight answer. I'm sure we all would. I know it's not just some lark. I know you better than that. Everything thing you do has a reason behind it."

"Clones," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Clones. I was looking around this computer and I found some files that said that the pentagon is doing clone research in Virginia using alien technology. I knew I couldn't break into the DOD computers so I needed to check it out myself. I've broken into mom's journals. I know how she thinks I might have been made."

Goddamn! I thought we were over all of that. The aliens. The clones. All of that shit. Can't a man live a normal life? Can't a man's children hope to have a life free of it, after all that we did? All that we gave?

"I can assure you that however you were conceived, you are not a clone. Trust me. There's nobody out there more unique than you. Look, I'm not going to say anything about the hacking. Though I will make it clear that I find you at it, you'll suddenly find that the house doesn't have a land line. But you ever find anything you think is interesting on that front, you come your father and me. We still know people, have connections on the inside, who can check out things like that and act appropriately. Get it? You don't put your butt on the line, you come to us."

I hoped he was listening. And that he wouldn't go digging anymore. We'd brought down the aliens who'd infiltrated the government, but there were certainly more than enough bloody-minded evil humans around who were willing to kill to keep their secrets. Oh, no, we had enough evil all on our lonesome without having to import it from a galaxy far away. And that evil wouldn't care that Charlie was just a kid with a burning need to know things. I decided I was going to have to talk to those connections of ours. Not that this supposedly clone project would still be down in Virginia by now, if it were there in the first place. It was worth checking out though.

The screen door opened. Scully stepped out onto the deck. She pointedly ignored me and pointed at the kid. "Come on. We're going. And you will apologize to Walter first."

"I will not."

"You will," Scully said, in that particular tone of voice that said that she'd made up her mind and God help someone who got in her way. She snapped her fingers. "Inside. In the living room. Do it. Now."

A hundred and forty pounds of disgruntled teenager, who was, I now noticed, already taller than her, shambled to his feet with a disgusted look on his face, but he headed inside the house. For all of his troublemaking and sassing, in the end, Charlie was a good kid. Really. He mostly did what he was told. Probably no more difficult than an average teenager, only his troublemaking was just on a bigger scale than every other kids. And his thirst for answers would not be satisfied by the easy answers, like his brother Billy had been. Billy knew that his conception and birth had been somewhat unusual, but he was satisfied to leave it at that and get back to his books.

When he'd slammed the sliding doors back on their tracks, I turned to Scully and said the same thing I always said to her after they had Fox and Scully argument number 107. "I love him like he's my own, Dana. You know that."

This time, she surprised me. Her usual answer ranged from a snort to a stare to just stalking away. This time though, she sighed heavily and sank back into one of the chairs. She ran her fingers through her red hair and said, "I know."

I was flabbergasted.

"I wouldn't be sending him here if I didn't know," she continued. "I just get possessive sometimes. You have Fox. What do I have left but his children?"

I could tell her a lot of things to that. Like it was her choice to make him go. Or that she still pretty much had him, because I was always being ditched like a bad date whenever she needed him and I put up with it and would continue to put up with it because she was the mother of his children. Or that she had Walt anytime she didn't drive him away and that Walt would have done anything in the world for her and her kids if she let him. I didn't say those things. I just squeezed her shoulder gently and said, "Charlie will be alright. We'll get him straightened out."

"If he doesn't kill himself first," she said ruefully.

Too true. Too true. Though I thought that kid would be the death of me long before then.

Day Seven-

I dropped Charlie off at his school. I waited until I saw him disappear into the front doors and get drawn into the crowd of other kids. I suppose nothing could stop him should he chose to sneak out of class, but at least I was going to make sure he got to school.

Then, off to my own work. Jilly was waiting outside my office when I got there. Of course. I groaned. I'd totally forgotten that I was supposed to give her an answer about her little plan. You can see how that might have slipped my mind, with the weekend I had.

She wasn't exactly pissed, but you could tell she was irritated with me. Not exactly the wisest thing in the world to piss off Jilly. She was a formidable woman, Jilly. About as tall as me and weighing almost as much, but not an ounce of it to spare. And an ex-Marine as well. She joined up in 2001, at age 18, during the whole September 11th thing. I don't know what happened to her exactly during her time in the service, because she won't talk about it. I can respect that. I know she was in country, in Afghanistan for a while, then again in Iraq.

I do know that whatever happened, after she was discharged, she went and sat in a tree for three years. It was a big redwood somewhere in California, where's she's from. After three years, I guess the tree told her to go to school and become a chemist. I know. But that's her story and she's sticking to it. And who am I to judge? Afterall, my lover talks to dead people. So, the tree told her to become a chemist and she did. She worked in the industry just long enough to get some experience, then she came to work for us.

"I'm sorry, Jilly, I'm not going to be able to go on your hunting trip," I told her right off the bat.

"Did you even look at what I sent you? These people need to be brought down."

"I didn't have a chance to look. I'm sorry, Jilly, but Charlie is suddenly living with us. I can't do it." I tried to get around her, to get to my office and to work. I had a lot to get done before I had to pick Charlie up again.

"What? He's fourteen, right? Does he really need the both of you to babysit?" She was blocking my way. I put up with a lot from Jilly, stuff I wouldn't put up with from an ordinary co-worker. Partly because she was so good at what she did. Partly because I was cutting her a lot of slack, considering what must have happened to her in country. I don't know what exactly happened, but I do know that what happened in Iraq made my time in Lebanon seem like a day in the country. It was bad, just the parts that made it onto the news. I'd hate to have actually been there.

"Let's just say he's a chip off the old block and he went and got himself in a lot of trouble this weekend." Jilly didn't know the full story, but she knew a little bit about Fox before he'd retired from alien fighting to become a writer.

"So? This is apples and Agent Orange. What's it got to do with this?"

"You've never had kids, have you, Jilly?" I asked her.

"No. What's that got to do with anything?"

"If you had kids, you'd understand. I'm sorry, Jilly. I just can't do it. I really wish I could."

Yeah. I did. As long as I kept going on these hunting trips, so to speak, I could convince myself that I still had a hand in, that maybe I wasn't such an old man after all. That I still had it. That yours truly still had it in him to be a bad ass. I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the adrenaline of it. These little side trips with Jilly were always fun. But, if I were caught, the stakes were just too high. I'm not talking about the professional thing. Nor am I even talking about possible danger to my life and limb. I'm saying I had to set a good example for the boy. Can you imagine if I got caught doing more or less the exact same thing that we'd been ragging on him about? I'd never live it down.

"Okay, whatever you say, ya stiff assed, Republican bastard," she said it with a big smile though. It was a familiar tease. She was letting me know, in her special Jilly kind of way, that all was forgiven.

"Well, I'm glad you understand, you tree-huggin' pinko hippie commie," I said back, the expected comeback. Thing was, in her own way, Jilly was no more a tree-hugger than I was, by which I mean she didn't romanticize it at all, not like our little intern Luna. This woman had sat in a tree for three years after all. She had commitment, vision, integrity. She put her ass on the line, always understanding that I might not be able to pull her ass out of the fire one day and she might end up in prison for life for domestic terrorism. Not starry eyed, not a bit. And she knew her stuff, chemistry wise. She did her own analysis and her official position here was running our lab. I guess she must have taken the tree seriously.

"Hey," I said as she turned to go. "You ever hear from Jim Simpson these days?"

"Now and then," she answered. "You need something?"

Jim Simpson was one of the aliases of a man we'd left inside the DOD after the struggle.

"Yeah, ask him to give me a call when he gets a chance."

I still had work to do when the afternoon rolled around and I had to go retrieve Charlie from school. After a moment of contemplation, I decided to head for home anyway. I couldn't bear the thought of trying to keep him busy and out of the way until I was done at work. Worse came to worse, I could head back in to the city after dinner.

Back at home, I was surprised to see Fox, in the kitchen, tackling the dishes we hadn't finished last night. "Homework," I told the boy, pointing at the kitchen table.

"Did it in class," he said, with a growl. He dumped his backpack, heavy as it was with books and the usual impedimentia of a high schooler by the front door. I picked it up and threw it at him like a drill sergeant would throw a raw recruit's pack at him. He just barely caught it, though I hadn't really thrown that hard.

"I did it!" snapped little mister surly. "Do you want to see?!"

"If you're done with that, I can think of some extra assignments for you to do," Fox added. "Like an essay on the history of the Homeland Security Acts of 2007."

"And you know the rules. All your crap up in the bedroom. I see that pack by the door again and I'm throwin' it out." I thought it was a reasonable rule and it had been in force since he and his brother were little kids. Their bedroom could be as messy as they liked and I wouldn't say a damn thing. But anything left out in the rest of the house was forfeit. "And the money for replacing the books comes right out of your pocket."

It might have been a bit extreme of me, true, but with such obvious and consistent consequences, they learned quickly and it kept the rest of the house in pretty good shape. I hate a messy house and it just about killed me to see the state of their room. But it was a fair trade off.

He sighed with such martyrdom that you'd think we were killing him or something. "Okay," he said as he sat down at the table. "I'll just read ahead for Lit class."

With Charlie plowing his way through Great Expectations and me rummaging through the fridge for something to fix for dinner and Fox humming at the sink, it got to be nice and cosy and domestic. For a while at least. I was almost enjoying myself as I put some venison to thaw for tomorrow in the fridge and pulled out vegetables and the venison chunks I'd started thawing last night.

Fox snuggled up behind me as I started peeling carrots. He rested his head on my shoulder and whispered some poetry into my ear.

"The sea has its pearls  
The heaven its stars, --  
But my heart, my heart.  
My heart has its love."

I was enjoying it. I really was. Until I heard a big raspberry, then a "Gross!" from the vicinity of the kitchen table. Fourteen year old boys don't seem to be particularly big on romance, do they?

"No comments from the peanut gallery," Fox said, then again set about seducing me in an age old manner- with fancy words. Walt Whitman this time. Not quite innocent, to be sure, but hardly objectionable even in front of the boy.

"With laugh and many a kiss,  
(Let others deprecate, let others weep for sin, remorse, humiliation,) O soul, thou pleasest me, I thee.

"Ah more than any priest O soul we too believe in God, But with the mystery of God, we dare not dally.

"O soul thou pleasest me, I thee,  
Sailing these seas or on the hills or waking in the night, Thoughts, silent thoughts, of Time and Space and Death, like waters flowing, Bear me indeed as through the regions infinite, Whose air I breath, whose ripples hear, lave me all over, I and my soul to range in range of thee."

He kissed me chastely, relatively, on my ear, then went back to washing the dishes. Charlie sighed. Did a sigh count as a comment? Brat. Ah, who much cared? Despite everything, this was just about as perfect as a day could get. Fox talking poetry to me, family around me, the house in good order. Dinner being created. This was what I lived for and as Fox started with another poem, I started plans to seduce him in bed tonight, after Charlie was asleep.

"I would like to give you the silver  
branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you  
from the grief at the center  
of your dream, from the grief  
at the center. I would like to follow  
you up the long stairway  
again & become  
the boat that would row you back  
carefully, a flame  
in two cupped hands  
to where your body lies  
beside me, and you enter  
it as easily as breathing in

"I would like to be the air  
that inhabits you for a moment  
only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary."

It must have been something about the way he said it, or maybe it was just the onions I was chopping, but there was a little dampness around my eyes at that last stanza. As I wiped my face off with a kitchen towel, I thought for some reason about having to give up Jilly's expedition. I thought about adrenaline rushes and feeling the passion of them. And I realized, yet again, none of that meant a piss in the wind compared to what I had here with Fox. That maybe passion wasn't always sweaty, athletic sex every day, though mind you, I wasn't complaining thus far. But that maybe the passion with him that I thought I'd lost wasn't so far away after all. That even when weeks on end went by when he didn't make love to me, that regardless, he was, indeed, like the air I breathed. That unnoticed, at times. But that necessary.

I set the dish towel aside and crossed the kitchen. I pulled Fox into my arms in a big dramatic display, comments from the peanut gallery be damned. Then I kissed him, fully and deeply, and felt my heart rise. I had all the passion I needed, right here.

"What was that for?" Fox asked, somewhat breathlessly when I released him.

"The man quotes poetry at me and he doesn't expect a response."

"Oh, yeah," Fox said, kind of sheepishly, then he kissed me again.

When we surfaced, I noticed that we'd driven Charlie from the room. At least he'd taken his pack and books with him.

"Fourteen year olds just don't appreciate poetry I guess," Fox said.

"Guess not."

Day Eight

"Do you gotta to hold hands?" whined the voice ahead of us.

"Yes, we have to hold hands," Fox told Charlie.

"It's embarrassing, Dad," my lover's oh-so-sweet progeny said.

"What? That your dads are big homos?"

"No! That you're all goopy. Like you're in love or something."

We were in the grocery store. Charlie was our none too enthusiastic beast of burden at the moment, assigned to pushing the cart. He kicked the back of the cart while he waited for us to make our decisions and "accidentally" bumped other shoppers just hard enough to be annoying and make us glare at him. It probably would have been easier to do it myself. No, I know for a fact that it would have been easier, but it was the principle of the thing. In fact, the easiest thing of all would have been to go by myself without either Fox or Charlie. Ain't family togetherness grand?

We stopped in front of the meat case and contemplated the selection of Styrofoam and plastic wrapped flesh. Somehow it didn't seem quite right seeing meat that way when you've shot and killed your own, butchered it yourself, but sometimes Fox got tired of nothing but venison. I tried to cut him off before he got too good a look at the steaks. He knew my game though, and said, "You're paranoid."

"Look who's talking. And anyway, I'm not paranoid. I'm in possession of all the facts."

But when I looked at him he was looking at me with sad, puppy dog eyes. "Okay, fine," I said, grabbing a couple of good filets. If you were going to eat something that had chance of being fatal, it might as well be really good. "But when that crap starts eating holes in your brain, I'm gonna say I told you so."

"How about if it just gives me e coli?" he asked.

Meanwhile, Charlie had wandered off to a nearby aisle and come back bearing a bottle of virulently purple ketchup. "No. Absolutely not," I told him. What is it with kids and food that is more artificial dye and color than actual food?

"But..."

"No buts, put it back."

He did so grudgingly and continued pushing the cart along as if he were one of those coal-mine boys and the cart was fully loaded with coal. After a while, Fox and I were debating which kind of cheese to get. The boy whined again. God, how did Scully put up with him?

"You're weird. Both of you. Why can't I have a normal family?"

"Normal people worry me," I said. Once I would have said I was a pretty normal kind of guy. Then Fox Mulder happened to me. Nothing like a little Fox to turn one's life upside down and cause you to reevaluate everything you believe to be true.

"Well, first of all, to have a normal family, you have to have normal family members. Which I hate to inform you, kid, but you don't," Fox added. "Take your mom. Her idea of a really great day at work is getting to slice open cadavers. Take me. I spent my youth chasing little green aliens. Your idea of a youthful caper makes me wake up in the middle of the night with sweaty palms. Your brother can move things without touching them. John's best friend at work says she talks to trees and he believes her. Not a jot of normal in this family."

"Gray," I said.

"What?" Charlie and Fox asked at the same time.

"Gray. The little aliens were gray, not green. If you don't remember that, maybe you already have mad cow, Martin."

Then it was time to pick out pop-tarts. Charlie held up the ecto-green ones hopefully. The ones we still had a partial box of at home because I had to close my eyes to eat them. "No. Besides, we have some at home if you have to try them."

"We had some at home. They're gone," Charlie informed me.

And so it went.

Eventually we got out of there, though by the time we'd hit the checkout lane, I was seriously thinking about leaving both of them home next time. Finally we'd wrangled everything home and got it put away and it was the kid's bedtime. Or at least the time where he had to go to his room, shut the door and pretend to be asleep. We didn't fuss if he spent a while reading. Tonight he was probably going to do just that.

At the store, Fox had allowed him to pick out one of the books from the small selection they had, the usual brick of paper mass-market crap. The same category that Fox wrote. In fact, his books were right next to the one that Charlie picked on the rack. As the boy went upstairs, without protest for once, his nose already buried in the first pages of the horror thriller, I had a realization.

Especially when I saw the grin that Fox had, leaning against the wall, watching his progeny ascend the stairs without making even a syllable of protest that it was too early and couldn't he stay up just a little longer.

"Okay, maybe it wasn't so wasteful to get him the book," I admitted. "Maybe it was kind of a good idea."

"Mister Shopping Cart Tyrant admits that I might have made a wise buying decision on my own. I'll have to write this one down in my day timer. We'll celebrate its anniversary for years to come."

"Watch your lip, young man," I said teasingly. Then something about his smirk, well, inspired me. What can I say? I walked up to him and manhandled him until he was faced to the wall and I had both his wrists in one of my hands. Mostly though he was pinned in place with my body weight. His left cheek was pressed to the wall, leaving me free access to the right side of his face. Fox didn't fight me at all. No, he always liked it on the rare occasions I decided to take charge of things. In fact, I snaked my free hand around to the front of his jeans, to test the waters so to speak. Oh, yes. He was enjoying this. I nibbled on his ear and rubbed him through his jeans.

"Upstairs. Bathroom. Now," I told him. "And don't say a thing until I tell you that you can."

We practically raced each other there, though I took a detour to the bedroom for supplies. I shut the door behind us and locked it. Fox turned on the shower, to cover the noise we were going to make at least some. Then I turned to him again, grabbing him by the wrists. This time I pinned him with his back against the wall and his hands over his head. He squirmed as I ground my hard on against his.

"I'm going to fuck you," I growled at him. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you can't see straight."

I thrust my hips into his again for emphasis and I could see that Fox had already half closed his eyes and was licking that gorgeous lower lip of his. He was breathing heavy too. "Open your eyes," I commanded him. I moved my head so he would have a good view of the mirror. "Look at yourself. Look at how beautiful you are when you're hot for me. I want you to watch as I fuck you."

Someone, oh, yeah, probably the kid, fumbled with the door for a moment and we both held our breath. Then I heard footsteps away and then down the stairs. I kissed Fox, long and deep, demanding entrance to his mouth with my tongue, and grinding hips as we kissed. He was moaning around my mouth and I might have been doing a little of the same. Then I slid down and got onto my knees.

I undid the button of his jeans and slid the zipper down. I pulled the jeans and his underwear, red boxer briefs, down in one motion. I grabbed his hands again as they tried to tangle themselves in my hair. "Look at yourself," I commanded. I went down on him, took him in as deep as I could in just one motion. He whimpered. I worked on him, getting harder and harder at the thought of how much pleasure I was giving him.

Pretty soon, he started thrusting into my mouth and I could tell that much more of this treatment and he'd come. Definitely it was too soon for that. I had other plans for him. I pulled my mouth off of him and he whimpered again, tried blindly to thrust back into my welcoming warmth and wetness.

"Uh-uh," I told him. "Try that again and I'm stopping."

Then I stood up. I had to use his hands as leverage to haul myself up. Hey, I think I'm in pretty good shape for a guy as old as I am, but my knees aren't what they used to be. I pushed Fox until he was leaning up against the sink, with a good view of the mirror. His cock would be trapped between his stomach and the sink, good for friction. I spread his legs a little for easier access then started preparing him to take me, all the while whispering at him, in a low growl, telling him how sexy he was, how I was going to fuck him, that he damn well better watch and so on. God, it was unbelievably exciting to watch him listen to me, to see his arousal grow, even though I would have said he was about as aroused as he possibly could get already.

Finally, I plunged into him, his hips gripped firmly in my hands, both of us watching as I did exactly what I said I was going to do to him. I started out gentle, but before long, I was battering into him and he was thrusting back at me. Eventually he closed his eyes but by that point, I was beyond caring and in any case, he started coming and I was just about in heaven. His muscles clamped down around me and as always, it was amazing, that pressure on my cock. It dragged my own orgasm out of me and I slammed his hips against me one last time and then I was shooting into him.

We both slumped against the sink, breathing heavily. I withdrew carefully and pulled the used condom off. "So, what'd ya think of that?" I asked.

"I think I like it when you're a tyrant sometimes," he said, with a weary smile. "I was a good boy, do I get a reward?"

"You had your reward," I said with a grin. Then I slapped his delicious ass lightly. "Get in the shower, why don't ya?"

I cleaned his come off the vanity and disposed of the condom, wrapping it carefully so it wouldn't be obvious in the trash. Didn't want to gross out the resident surly teenager, did I? Then I followed Fox into the shower. Soon we were clean, dried and ready for bed.

Just as I was about to slip under the covers, the doorbell rang. Fox was already almost asleep, but his eyes popped open at the sound. "You expecting anyone?" I asked, mostly rhetorically. He would have told me if he was expecting a late night visitor. He shook his head and started to sit up. "No, you go to bed. I'll take care of it."

I grabbed my robe and headed down the stairs. I stopped at the hall closet before answering the door. We'd had a gun safe built into the closet wall. I punched the combination in rapidly as the doorbell rang again and grabbed my Smith and Wesson and its clip. I pushed the clip into place then slid the safety off as I felt the now unfamiliar weight of the gun in my right hand. How long had it been since I'd even done target practice? I'd have to get down to the range sometime soon.

Handle in my left hand, gun in my right, I opened the door cautiously. I lowered my weapon immediately as soon as I saw who it was. "Shit! Walt, you shoulda called first," I said as I put the safety back in place. He didn't look too surprised to have been met at the door with a firearm. But then, he knew all too well just how many people with a grudge against either me or Fox might be out there still.

He shook his head sadly. "I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly," he explained. I opened the door all the way for him and he stepped inside. I shut the door then put the gun away safely.

"I thought you were staying with Dana?" He just shook his head in answer. Guess not. The affair was off again, at least for a while. Women! Can't they ever make up their minds? "You wanna talk about it?"

"Nah. What's to say?" He shrugged in a way that let me see that he was regretting ever coming back from the South Pacific. I could sort of put the picture together now, seeing that Scully must have lured him back, not with promises, but with hints that maybe she was ready to have him around again. I wanted to tell him to haul his ass back to the Marquesas, find himself a nice, happy woman without all the baggage to share his life with and forget about Scully. No doubt if I did, it wouldn't penetrate that thick, bald skull of his.

"You know, sometimes I really envy what you and Fox have," he said. "I wonder if it wouldn't be easier if I were gay. At least then I'd have a good chance at understanding the person I fell in love with. Women! Can't live with 'em. End of sentence."

"Maybe you just haven't met the right guy yet," I told him, but lightly, with a little tease in my voice, so he would know I wasn't serious.

"No, I've met the guys who should have been the right guys and my dick utterly fails to get hard for 'em." He hefted his bag again and then looked me in the eyes. Seemed like for a minute he was going to say something sappy and maybe even maudlin but the moment passed. "It's a mystery to me," he finally said.

"Well, heterosexuality happens in the best of families, Walt, but we love you just the way you are," I cracked. "Welcome home. You know where the guest room is and you know where we keep the key to the liquor cabinet. See you in the morning."

Then I went upstairs, to where the man I loved slept. He'd fallen soundly asleep already. I tucked myself in next to him. All was right in my little world. That was, until I heard the distinctive turbo vacuum cleaner in reverse sound of a cat hacking up a serious hairball. Okay, maybe all wasn't right, but all was more or less good enough. I hoped that the cat had chosen an out of the way location. Nothing worse than stepping in cold, wet hairball first thing in the morning, but I was also falling asleep too fast to go find it and clean it up.

Day Nine

"Fuck!"

That was the first thing I heard this morning. Fox, yelling loudly. It was followed by, "Goddamn cats!"

Guess the cat didn't chose such an out of the way location after all. I sighed and looked at the window. Still dark out. I checked the alarm clock. Only about half an hour before I normally got up. I decided to get up anyway. Good thing too, because a moment later, the phone rang. I reached for it, but it stopped before I got there. I heard Fox talking in the hallway.

"Sure, I'll get him for you, Jilly," Fox said. "Hey, how's the saving the world gig going for you these days?"

He laughed at whatever she said, then opened the bedroom door. I dreaded taking the phone from him. God knows what it would be when Jilly called me this early. It usually wasn't something that added to my peace of mind. I took it anyway.

"Morning, John," she said. She sounded cheerful enough, but then you never really knew with Jilly.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, sitting up in bed, preparing myself for whatever outlandish task she had in mind, or for the fact that she might be calling from jail somewhere.

"Skip the gym this morning and bring your running clothes to work," she said. "You have a lunch time running date."

"Oh, yeah? Since when?" This was far from the oddest thing she'd ever asked of me, but I was still wondering what it was all about.

"A mutual friend of ours. Only time he can arrange to see you. The usual place."

Oh. Of course. I'd asked her to contact "Jim Simpson" for me. Stood to reason that he might think that his phone, or our phone, might be tapped. Jogging on the mall was pretty innocuous and ubiquitous. We'd blend right in with all the other joggers. I wasn't particularly fond of jogging, but I wanted the meeting. "When?" I asked.

"Noon-thirty," she said. "See ya in a couple of hours."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Jilly."

So began the morning rush. You know, I think the physicists would be interested in finding out that the forces that draw teenage boys to their beds are greater than any gravitational pull of a black hole. Eventually though, and it took both me and Fox to do it, we got the boy out of bed, dressed and putting some breakfast down his face. Walt had never made it to the bed. We found him on the living room sofa, a finger of scotch still in the tumbler on the end table and glasses still on his face. Poor guy. Fox looked questioningly at him and I said, "Dana needs some space or something."

Fox shrugged and found a blanket to drape over the big lug. Then it was time for us to head out the door. Charlie was still dragging so much I was almost tempted to shove a mug of coffee at the boy. His fault though. I'd caught a glimpse of how much he'd read before falling asleep. The big brick of a book was about halfway done, propped open on the floor next to his bed.

Charlie got out of the truck, almost forgetting his back pack. I honked at him and he sleepily turned to me. I held it up and he came back to get it. "Hey, kid, have a good day, 'kay?"

"Thanks, otherdad," he said. That was his name for me, going back to when he was a small sprout. Fox was his dad, he'd always explained to his friends. I was his other dad. He said it something like 'utherdad', fast and kind of slurred.

"You're welcome. I'll be by at three-thirty like usual," I said.

He saluted, then plodded bonelessly up the walk to the front doors of the big, brick building. I watched as he waved to friends, joined up with a couple of them, suddenly looking a lot more animated than he had. Fox was still grumbling about pulling him out of the school but the more I saw him with his school friends, the less I was inclined to agree with Fox.

Work was pretty boring and typical. At noon, I changed into the shorts and t-shirt I'd brought with me and headed out at a slow, sustainable pace, heading for the Smithsonian castle. That's where I usually met "Jim." As I jogged in the sweltering heat, the sun punishingly bright, I wondered at the wisdom of letting Jilly talk me into this kind of meeting. Okay, I lied earlier about being not particularly fond of jogging. Honestly, in this kind of weather, I hate it, no two ways about it.

As I passed the castle, a familiar face joined me. "Good to see you, John," he said. "Jim Simpson" was whip lean, had the perfect runner's body and looked impossibly good in the spandex he always wore. His fade was shorn closer than he usually wore it and his skin was a little darker than the last time I saw him. He must have been getting some sun. And he'd remembered to bring sunglasses, which I hadn't.

"Looking good, Jim," I said. He kept pace with me, though I know he usually ran a lot faster.

"So, I hear that Martin's son is a chip off the old block," he said casually.

"That get around already?"

"Just in certain circles," he said. "We've been kind of expecting one or the other of the boys to come poking around some day. Just not this soon."

"He's precocious, that's for sure. Far as you know, anything going down of interest these days?"

"There's always something of interest going down, but as for anything that's of interest to you and yours, not so far as I know. Did the kid find something?"

"Nothing. He didn't get far. But he claims he found proof that there's some kind of cloning project going on in Virginia. I had another friend of ours check out the computer he says he found the info on and there was zilch. You can understand my concern."

"I'll look into it," he promised me. "Meet me for a run again on Friday?"

I grimaced at the thought of another run in the heat at noon, but I agreed to it readily. We jogged on a while longer, heading north, and eventually "Jim" broke away from me. I turned around and headed directly back to the office. Back at work, I toweled myself off as best I could in the restroom, then grabbed my lunch and headed to the breakroom to eat quickly before I had to put my nose back to the grindstone. Luna, the intern, was eating too, something that smelled vaguely horrible, with lots of curry in it. I heated up my container of leftover stew in the microwave. She wrinkled her nose for a minute but didn't make any comment this time or freak out. Her hair had changed from blue or purple or whatever it had been to kind of a faded pink. She'd acquired a ring in her nose.

After a while of silence, which was the sort of thing I appreciated from her, she spoke to me. "I don't get you," she said.

"What's to get?"

"Well, you're gay, right?"

Well, that didn't really cover the flexible reality of my sexual expression, but I suppose for practical purposes, it had to be close enough. I'd been monogamous with another man for nearly as long as this girl had been alive. Despite that, pretty girls caught my eyes all the time. Heck, I'd had to force myself to stop my eyes from drifting to the bust level of this girl's skimpy little tank top. I'm married, not blind! I'd be lying if I said I didn't watch the occasional het porn flick with Fox. Though I noticed as time went by, that I found myself looking at guys with an approving eye as well, especially ones with any kind of resemblance to Fox.

"Yeah, I'm gay," I said, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"You work here, right? And I've heard about some of the actions you've done. Pretty brave stuff, pretty radical. So, I kind of figured you'd be a lot cooler than you are."

I think she meant she wanted to know why I wasn't some damn vegetarian who voted Democratic and hugged Bambi instead of eating him. Why I drove what the tree-huggers called a big fucking truck. All of that. I chose to pretend I interpreted her statement differently.

I had to laugh at that. "Melissa," I said. I'd found out Melissa was her real name and I used it at every opportunity. She hated it. "I haven't been cool since long before you were born. I think the last time I was cool, Ronald Reagan was still in office."

"Who?"

Kids these days. Didn't know a damn thing. And God was she making me feel old. "He was president from 1980 to 1988," I told her, then went back to eating my lunch.

My workload was such that I had to drive back to work after dropping Charlie at home. As I headed back into the city, I contemplated again ditching the tree-huggers and dragging the whole family off to the South Pacific, Walt included. Hell, even Scully. Sometimes, this job of mine could suck like a three-hundred dollar call girl.

By the time I managed to drag my sorry ass back home, it was already ten o'clock. Walt, Fox and Charlie had installed themselves in front of the TV. They were watching a re-run of the television show based off the movie based off the book that Fox had written. They were watching it and making fun of it. I got a wave from all of them and a blown kiss from Fox, but nobody got out of their viewing cocoon. I abandoned them to their show and headed to the kitchen. I shoveled some leftovers, still cold, into my face, then I headed up to bed without saying goodnight.

Fox was up shortly though. He stripped completely and crawled under the covers with me. It was actually almost a chilly night, a cold front having swept through earlier this evening, bringing rain and cooler temps with it. He kissed me and all I could do was yawn. I'd been half asleep when he'd joined me. Then I murmured, "Love you," and rolled over onto my side. He poked me gently in the ribs and God help me, I couldn't do anything about it. Sleep just about had me fully in its claws and it was too hard to even contemplate opening my eyes. He poked me with his erection and I didn't respond. Sleep was taking me.

"Take a message," I said, sleepily, starting to misinterpret things. I was that sleepy.

"But John, I need you," he said. It should have been enough to get me hard, just that, the sound of his voice begging like that.

"Sorry, tired," I said and pounded my pillow a little, I buried my face in it and don't remember anything else until the morning.

Day 10

I'd say Fox got back at me this morning. I woke up before my alarm, ready to go, with a big old morning woodie. And Fox, for once, was beside me. I smiled with wicked intentions and reached for him. Gentle nuzzles failed to wake him, so did a nibble to his ear, which was presented so sexily to me. He really is so sweet and innocent looking when he's sleeping. His hair falls down over his forehead and into his eyes when he's sleeping and in the darkened gray of our room, I couldn't see that his hair was going gray. Sleep relaxed some of the wrinkles he'd acquired over the years. Yes, for a little while at least, I was in bed with the much younger man that I'd fallen in lust with.

That's all it had been at first. So I thought. Just about sex, not about love. That had been back when we were both still working on the x-files together for that brief period. We'd been fighting, butting heads about something, two alpha males going at it. Then all of a sudden, he was on his knees in front of me and before I hardly knew what was happening, he was giving me head. The first time he had tried to touch me on that oil rig, I'd brushed him off. The second time he touched me, I ended up letting him do me. At first I told myself it was just sex, that all blow jobs are the same with your eyes closed. I'd figured it was a one shot deal, at least that was until it happened again. It took maybe four times before I'd admitted to myself that yes, it was a man, and a man that irritated the hell out of me sometimes, that was doing it to me and that despite that, I liked it. The fifth time, I returned the favor and that properly started a brief, torrid affair that lasted until his and Scully's kid was born. I didn't figure out until I was devastated when I went to his empty apartment and found out he was on the run that somewhere along the line, I'd started caring for him, that maybe even I was in love.

Love's great though, isn't it? Just because you love someone like I love Fox doesn't mean that you can't still be crazy in lust for them. Like I was this morning.

Except Fox, damn him, was no more co-operating than I had last night. Was I a big enough man to beg? Sure. But when I tried, it no affected Fox than anything else. I tried tickling him. He murmured and swatted clumsily in my direction. My alarm clock, which I'd forgotten to shut off, didn't pierce his sleep. The couple of times in the past where I'd tried to waken him with a blow job, it did not go as planned and once resulted in him giving me a big old shiner. He was more or less asleep when that had happened and didn't remember it when he finally did wake up. In any case, trying to wake him with sex was definitely out of the question. So I was stuck with a lover that was currently giving me his best impression of a fallen log in the forest. Completely dead to the world.

I sighed and started the madness of the day. With Fox sleeping and not around to help me, it took that much longer to pull the boy out of his bed and start him on the road to wakefulness. Breakfast was merely poptarts and coffee. Ecto-green berry for the boy, cherry for me. Coffee was available only because Walt was up and had made it already. He was cheerily sitting at the table, sipping and reading the Post. He was dressed in office going gear, jacket to his monkey suit at the ready but not on, conservative dark tie noosed around the neck of brilliant white dress shirt. I guess he'd started that consulting job he nominally came back for. He stayed out of the way, only saying good morning, as I shepherded the boy through our abbreviated morning return. As I was about to head us in the direction of the back door, to hit the garage, the front door rang.

More wasted time, except I didn't have to bother with the gun safe. Whatever company he was consulting for, I guess they didn't mind if Walt showed up armed, because he had a holster clipped to the back of his belt and he drew a weapon from that was I checked who it was. "It's okay. Friend of mine. Sort of. Co-worker."

I opened the door as Walt holstered his weapon again. I let Jilly in. She had a bike with her and an messenger bag strapped to her back. Ma always said that ladies don't sweat, they glow. But then Jilly is nobody's idea of a lady and she was sweating like a horse.

"Good, you're still here. My crappy assed excuse for a car isn't working again," she said. I'd seen her car. It didn't need to be fixed. Taken out and shot and put out of its misery was more like it. "I was hoping you could give me a ride the rest of the way in. If not, I understand. I can make the rest of the trip on bike, but if you could let Trina know I'll be late I'd appreciate that."

All the time she was talking to me, she wasn't looking at me. She was looking over my shoulder at Walt. Understandable. He's quite a sight in those dazzlingly white shirts. Other than his fringe being a bit smaller than it used to be, and snowy white now, he doesn't look that much different than he used to. Oh, and that tan. He looks disgustingly healthy and strong, like a man twenty years younger than he is, even though he's pushing seventy. He was always a stunning specimen and is even more so these days. It was enough to make a man jealous.

"Uh, Jilly, this is an old friend and one time boss of mine, Walter Skinner. Walt, this is Jilly Sherwin, who runs the lab at my current place of work," I said, then stepped out of the way to let them shake hands.

Walt, that old dog, was eating Jilly's attention with a spoon. Most of the time, Walt's actually kind of shy around the opposite sex, but when he puts his mind to it he can cut quite the swath through the ladies. He must have decided to do that now, because he smiled at her and took her hand, holding it just a little bit too long for formal. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Sherwin. I think John's truck would be a little crowded with three. But I'm headed downtown as well. Why don't you let me give you a lift?"

Jilly was kind of unusual looking, but Walt seemed to like what he saw for some reason. I don't know Jilly's exact ethnicity, but she had skin that was coffee with cream colored and dreadlocks, so definitely there was at least some African-American in her, but her features always suggested maybe Latina to me. I'd never asked and the one time I heard someone else ask, she'd just said, "100% pure mutt."

She was not pretty, by anyone's stretch of imagination, but certainly was striking. I'd heard it said that she'd given up a promising modeling career to join the Marines. Every now and then, she came to our benefit events all dolled up and at those times, I could almost believe that. She'd never lost her shape from her Marine days, and in the cycling spandex she was wearing now, that was very apparent. Most of the time though, in the baggy clothes she wore around work, without makeup, she just looked kind of odd, skinny and awkward. The kind of girl you aren't surprised when you hear she once sat in a tree for three years. The kind of girl you don't look twice at, especially when she wears her glasses, not her contacts.

But right now, in the spandex and without her glasses, you could sort of see the ghost of the swan that this ugly duckling could become at will. And Walt seemed to like what he saw. Uh-oh.

Meanwhile, Charlie was waiting behind us, all but making retching noises. Then he whined, "We're going to be late."

So, I had to leave the pair of them behind to lock up the house and make their own way into the city. The usual crush of work stole the hours quickly, until I got a phone call. "John Doggett, legal," I said, just like usual, then because the line indicated it was an outside caller, I added the name of our organization. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey tough guy, more like what can I do for you?" a very familiar voice said. "Did I ever tell you that you've got a sexy phone voice?"

"Martin? What's up?" I was confused. Fox just didn't call me at work, except a couple times for emergencies. Yet this was obviously not an emergency.

"I was just wondering if you had plans for lunch?"

"You mean besides a sandwich and reading that Sea Monsters of the Creepy Lagoon thing for you? Nothing."

"Any chance you can take a long lunch? God knows you were there long enough last night."

"I think I could manage that. Did you want me to come home for lunch? Is that what you're asking?" It was a long drive out to Falls Church and back just for lunch, but I was almost willing to do it because it meant seeing Fox and because he was obviously trying to tempt me into a nooner. It'd been about forever since we'd had a chance for one.

"Nope. I'm calling from outside your office building," he said.

I was a little disappointed. It was good to see Fox, no matter what, but I'd already gotten my heart set on a nooner, even if that wasn't what he had in mind. A lunch date of any kind with Fox was good.

"How soon can you break free from work?" he asked.

I looked at the files I'd been working on. Nothing that would be any less frustrating or difficult if I did it now instead of later. I looked at the clock. Eleven thirty. I'd been planning to take a break any time soon. "How about right now?" I asked. I was already standing and rolling down my sleeves. I shrugged on the jacket that I'd discarded earlier before I finished talking to Fox.

"Hurry then, I'm double parked," he said. "Love you, guy. See you soon."

Then he disconnected. I stopped by my assistant's office, right next door to mine. She wasn't my usual assistant, who was out on maternity leave. This was the third temp the agency had sent us and so far she'd worked out the best but I still missed my usual assistant Jenny. Even though Laura was the best of the temps, she was still playing solitaire on the computer and didn't even have the sense to close that window when I walked in. "Laura, I'm going to lunch with Martin. I'll be back in an hour and a half or so. Try and hold down the fort. You have my cell's number, but only use it if it truly is an emergency."

"Emergency as defined by what?"

You can see why I found her frustrating. Jenny would have just nodded and said, "Have a good time." Part of my longer hours these days, I knew, was directly attributable to Laura not doing her job properly. "If somebody is dead I suppose. Ecotastrophe. End of the world. That kind of thing."

"And if Jilly calls from jail again?"

"I think she was planning a quiet morning in the lab, but if she manages to get herself arrested somehow, this time she can cool her heels until I'm done with lunch."

Then I rushed downstairs. Fox had found himself a regular parking spot. As I slid myself into the passenger seat of the efficient Honda sedan that was our second car, I should have guessed something was up. Fox had really dressed to impress. I forgot about it at times, because it had been so long since he'd needed to wear a suit on a regular basis, but Fox had been quite the sharp dressed man at one point. And he was again this morning. Freshly shaved and showered, hair just slightly damp still, he smelled delicious, spicy, like some expensive aftershave. He'd dressed in one of his best suits, a crisp shirt that would have put Walt's to shame, and one of the ties that I'd picked out for him.

Who was this sexy stranger picking me up, looking nothing at all like the sometimes scruffy, forgetting to shave two, three days in a row, absentminded, dressed in sweats, writer that I'd left in bed this morning. It was almost like meeting with a different man, like it was an affair or something.

Just like as if it were an affair, I reached over and kissed him deeply and thoroughly, even though a car was already behind us, honking for the parking space. The kiss was good. More than good. Exciting, went straight to my groin and took my breath away. I pushed him away before I got too excited.

"What's the plan?" I asked.

"We may as well walk from here. I don't think we'll get a closer parking space," he said, turning off the car's engine and taking the keys. The car behind us honked again in frustration then drove off. I was curious as he grabbed a small gym bag from the back seat, but I didn't say anything. He had something planned and nothing in the world would drag it out of him before he was ready to give. If I knew Fox, and I did, all would reveal itself shortly.

He led us to the front door of a well-known, landmark hotel. "You're taking me to lunch at the Willard?" I asked, surprised. I shouldn't have been. I remembered his tendency for the occasional, but always- grand gesture. Like the year he forgot my birthday completely, but a month later, his new book came out with this dedication printed right in the front, "To John, always. Without you, none of this would have been possible, from the words on these pages to me continuing to breathe." I only later found out how big a fight he'd gotten into with both his agent and publisher about that. Neither of them had wanted him to come out to the reading public, which was what that dedication basically did. One year he got me another one of those darn Apollo 11 keychains for Christmas. Like he hadn't done that one already. But then later, he heard me complaining about how the tree-hugging coworkers were complaining about my big old gas guzzling truck. A couple of days later, the new truck just appeared in the driveway, no explanation. Like I said, grand, extravagant gestures were his style.

"You'll see," he said, with a wry grin. Then he led me, not to the dining room, but to the bank of elevators. "I'll feed you the best that room service has to offer," he promised. "When I've had my wicked way with you."

At last, one of the elevators opened and he pushed me into it. We were alone in the lush, mahogany and mirrored box. The doors slid closed smoothly and he pushed me against the back wall of the elevator. He kissed me, hands reaching under my jacket, breaking away occasionally to smile at me. And I was falling in love with him all over again, I swear it. All I could see for the moment was how handsome, how charming, how wonderful he was.

Laura was pissed at me that I came back from lunch late. Very late. Oh, fucking, well.

Day 11

I was rummaging around the refrigerator, looking at a certain pristine emptiness it had that I wasn't expecting it to have. "Didn't we go shopping just on Tuesday?" I asked Fox. He was standing at the counter, waiting for me to hand him vegetables to chop. Today was Friday and the four guys of the Doggett/Fox, or rather these days, the Doggett/Fox/Scully/Skinner household were all gathered. The plan was to make a couple of pizzas and then spend the rest of the evening watching the movies I'd rented.

I think I must have forgotten how much faster we go through groceries when the garbage disposal that calls itself Fox's son is living here. This was pretty amazing though. He must be fueling up for a big growth spurt soon.

"What do you need, John?" Walt asked. "I'll go to the store for you. I feel bad about not paying my way around here."

Fox peered into the fridge over my shoulder, then gave a cursory glance through one or two of the cabinets. "Off hand, I'd say just about everything," he concluded. "Why don't you take Charlie with you? He'll know what we need replacing. Afterall, he's the one that ate it. You don't have to get a lot. Just whatever you feel like spending."

"Don't let him talk you into anything that's a color not found in nature," I added, digging out a green pepper that Charlie had ignored from the crisper. Seems like we had onions as well. Did I detect a pattern here? Seemed like mostly what he had left was vegetables. "We'll need cheese for the pizza for sure."

And so Walt was shuffled off to the store, somewhat warily, with the boy, who was overly eager to the point where it was suspicious. Charlie had Walt wrapped around his little finger and the both of them knew it. No doubt they'd be coming home with the damn purple ketchup and the green poptarts.

The door shut and eventually a car pulled out of the driveway. We were alone, at least for a short, blessed while. I went back to work, heading for cutting board with the pepper and onion. Fox followed me. As I picked up the knife, he put his hand on top of mine and snuggled up to my back. He ground his hips against my ass and gave me a little wicked laugh. "They won't be back for at least an hour," he said, his hands starting to rove.

"You are insatiable," I told him.

"Look who's talking, Mister twenty-one day plan," he said, starting to rub my shoulders at that specific spot I liked so well. I tried to shrug him off.

"Fox, I want to get all this stuff done so that when they come back with the cheese, I can just throw this in the oven. At this rate it'll be ten before we eat."

"You can spare a little time, I think," he said. His voice was husky, definitely planned that way. To me, it was the sounds of seduction. Just like that damn cologne was the smell of it. He knew I loved it, and if we weren't so rushed, I'd be sniffing him all over, just to gather in as much as possible all the traces of it. It was hard to say no to him, but I was always good at keeping on task.

"It always takes longer than you think to cook. Dinner will be late," I said.

"Dinner can wait," he told me. Funny how persuasive he could sound at times. Fox never really commanded. Sometimes he demanded, mostly he just persuaded. You found yourself doing what he wanted and almost believing it was your idea in the first place. Some of that cologne he was wearing yesterday was lingering on him, or he'd put more on today. Between that and the feel of his lips on my neck and ears, I dropped the knife and pepper. He ground his hips against me again, so that I was made very aware of my hard on as it brushed against the cabinets. He eased his hands around to the front of my waist and quickly undid my belt and then the fly of my pants. He had my pants and my shorts down around my ankles before I could protest. Not that it would have done me much good. He was taking no prisoners here, already diving for that spot on my shoulder that drove me wild, licking it and sucking it. I heard a rip like from a little package and a moment later he tossed an empty single use size package of lube on the counter. The bastard had planned this, I thought absently. I was ambushed.

A moment later, his fingers were spreading my ass and I was backing onto them, wanting more. And boy, did he give it to me. It was rough and even though I'm more than used to being fucked, I was sure I'd have a little trouble sitting down tonight. His fucking was demanding. With every thrust he mashed me up against the counter. He was rock hard, harder than usual, and his dick brushed against my prostate again and again. It was all so good it almost hurt. He allowed me to back off from the counter a little, then reached around and grabbed my cock. He pumped me hard, demanding my orgasm right then and there. I gave it to him, not caring that I was leaving strings of milky come all over the cabinets and even got some on the countertop. He followed right behind me, with my name on his lips, coming with a hoarse shout of, "John!"

I leaned against the counter, letting it Fox lean against me, supporting his weight. If there was anything better than his weight on me, his head on my shoulders, both of us nice and glowing, I don't want to know what it was. I chuckled and said, "I should know better than to get in your way when you've already made up your mind."

I was sore but it was totally worth it to me. After a moment, he stood up and we started pulling ourselves together. Cleaning up our little messes. And Fox was right. We had plenty of time. By the time Walt and Charlie were back bearing bag after bag of groceries, we were dressed again, the cabinets wiped down, and the peppers and onions sliced. They were cooked and on the pizza. Everything was ready to go. We were just waiting for the cheese.

Walt sent Charlie out to the car for another load as we started unpacking the first. I was right too. Purple ketchup. Green pop-tarts. And blue soda.

"The both of you look like cats that just ate canaries," he said as the actual cats of the household hopped up on the counter to investigate. Sophie started chewing on one of the plastic bags, something she preferred over catnip or treats. I carefully swept her off the counter and she stalked away with an injured dignity. Dale crawled into one of the empty bags and curled up. I left him for the moment.

Mulder grinned bigger in response, but I managed to keep a poker face, "Never mind," Walt said. "I don't want to know, I think."

The phone rang. As I started to shred cheese, Fox answered it. "For you, Walt," he called out.

Walt took the phone from him. He listened for a minute then smiled big. Look who was talking about canaries and cats. He took the phone into the other room.

"Dana?" I asked Fox.

"No, Jilly," Fox said, looking confused. "I wonder if this has anything to do with the fact that Jilly's bike is still in our front hallway."

I wondered about that. I'd just assumed that she'd found someone to give her a ride home and she'd be by for the bike eventually. Now, I wondered. No, couldn't be. Charlie crept out to the living room, with a bag of chips and some blue soda. I think he was thinking that I didn't see him, but I did. I was just letting him get away with it because it was Friday night.

Eventually Walt came back into the room with the phone and a little smile on his face. "Gentlemen, I hate to break our plans, but..."

"Walt, you and Dana..." Fox began, looking almost crestfallen. I guess he'd always liked the fact that Scully had Walt, if she couldn't have him. Personally I think it would suck to be the consolation prize, but Walt never had seemed to mind before.

"She's recently made it quite clear that I'm a free agent," he said. "No obligation on either side."

"Not Jilly," I said. I had this problem. I always found myself getting very protective of the females I worked with. The pattern had been going on for years. Scully. Monica, others up to the present day and Jilly especially. "She will not be some rebound relationship that you'll dump as soon as Queen Scully makes up her mind to let you in again."

"I have nothing of the kind planned, John," he said defensively.

"If you hurt her, I swear I will personally beat the crap outta you. Got that? Touch one hair on her head," I threatened. Not that I thought I could do it. Walt was still in fantastic shape and he'd always been bigger than me and a better fighter. He still boxed these days sometimes.

"Walt, Jilly's great, but you might not know what you're getting in for here," Fox cautioned. "She may seem kind of weird on the surface and you might think you can deal with that. But trust me, under that surface she's all kinds of weird. And I should know."

Of course. This was my own little monster boy talking. He should know.

"I'll trust you on that one. But I'm not proposing marriage to the girl. She just asked if I would bring her bike over to her."

Sure. I've heard that line before. I decided to trust him anyway. "Okay," I reached into my pocket and tossed him the truck keys. "Take the truck. Don't be out too late."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," he smirked.

I snorted and got back to making pizza.

Day 12

Fortified by coffee and strong with purpose, I set out to beard the dragon in its lair, so to speak. I turned the door knob to the boy's room and prepared myself. I stiffened my resolve and told myself that nothing I saw in the room mattered, that it was worth the compromise for the rest of the house being kept clean. The room was a disaster area. Just last Saturday, this room had been more or less pristinely clean. Now, seven mere days later, you couldn't see the floor. You know, I would have sworn that the boy didn't own that much clothing, much less have been able to wear it in the short period he'd been living here. Stepping in the low places between the piles I crossed over to the windows. I opened the shutters, letting the light of another gorgeous Virginia morning into the room. The little monster huddled in the bed curled up tighter and pulled a pillow over his face.

"Time to get up," I told him. Charlie just rolled over again and burrowed deeper in the blankets. As I dragged the blankets out of his clutches I said, "I mean it. Your mother is going to be here to pick you up at eleven and there's a bunch of stuff to get done before then."

He threw a pillow at me. I caught it and dumped it on the floor out of his reach. He threw another at me, then finally caught on to the fact that his bed was denuded of ammunition and that he was awake anyway. "What kind of stuff?"

We'd been pretty soft on him so far. Other than the dishes and his homework, we hadn't demanded anything out of him. "First of all, I want your dirty clothes in the laundry room before you go. Otherwise, I'm not doing them. Then you need to mow the lawn."

Then I left him to get dressed. As I started on the laundry, I didn't notice Charlie bringing any piles down to me, but eventually I heard the whirr of the lawn mower. I relaxed and settled down to the important business of sorting colors from the whites. A separate load for my shirts, of course. I started a load of towels, something that we suddenly appeared to be going through at a rate that couldn't logically be explained by four people living together. Four people times one per day couldn't make three big loads of them, could it? Must be the boy's fault.

I didn't notice the lawnmower stopping, but when I went back upstairs from the basement, Charlie was slouched bonelessly in front of the television, watching cartoons, with his feet propped up on the coffee table, bowl of brightly colored cereal resting on his stomach. "You aren't done already, are you?"

"Can't do any more. Broken," he explained between big gulps of cereal.

Needless to say, I was furious. At the very least he should have come told me before setting his ass down in front of the television. "What?!"

"Did I stutter?" he snapped at me. I wanted to slap him. Only my love for his father stopped me. "The lawnmower's broken."

In silent anger, I turned on my heel and went outside to investigate. The lawnmower itself appeared to be fine. Except that it sat immobile, rock like and would until I had a chance to rewire it. You see, Charlie had somehow managed to run the electric mower over its own cord, severing it neatly. Charlie had unplugged what was left of the cord from its outlet and coiled it precisely on top of the mower. For crying out loud in a bucket!

I headed back inside carrying the cord with me. I'm not half sure that my intention wasn't to strangle the child with it. He laid in blissful ignorance of the fury that was approaching him, cereal bowl set aside on the floor now and stretched out full length on the sofa, including grubby sneakers on the throw cushions. Not that I normally give a damn about throw cushions, but it was all just too much.

I stood in front of him, blocking his view of the screen and I slammed the cord onto the coffee table. "You idiot!" I yelled. Like I said before, I yell because I care. And in this case, it wasn't just caring about the lawn. "You could have killed yourself! Does the word electrocution mean anything to you?"

No, of course it didn't. He continued to stare at me blankly, as if in bewilderment. Like I was some kind of alien freak or something. I took a deep breath. Counted backwards from ten. Counted backwards from twenty. Got a hold of myself mostly and started again.

"Look, I'm going to assume you ran the cord over accidentally and not on purpose," I said. Why did this have to be so difficult? It's not a particularly large lawn. I was mowing one far, far bigger than it every week when I was eleven. With one of those old reel push mowers. He should be able to manage it easily without screwing up. So why was I starting to feel like it would have been far easier to just do it myself? "I'm not mad at you about that. But first of all, unplugging the cord like that was stupid. That's live current going through that cord. Something like that happens again, you come tell me. We turn off the circuit breaker it's on, then you unplug it. Got it?"

He didn't have time to answer. The doorbell rang. I checked my watch. A little early, but it was Scully probably. "This is not over!" I told him. He was still staring at me like I was an alien. I went to answer the door. I checked the peephole. In the distorted picture, I could sort of make out red hair. I opened the door.

Dana seemed surprised to see me. "Your truck is gone. I thought you'd be gone," she said. I let her into the house and closed the door behind her. We both stared at each other in the hallway.

"Walt borrowed it for an errand," I said. I was a little worried about that actually. Knowing Jilly and Walt, they didn't spend the night playing pinochle. I shouldn't be worried. They're both grownups. But Walt could have checked in, letting me know when he was going to get my truck back to me.

"Do you know if he'll be back soon?" she asked.

"I don't know. He didn't say," I said.

"I was thinking maybe he might want to come over today. Spend the day with us."

"I'll have him call you when he gets in," I told her. I wasn't about to be either side's messenger boy or get caught up in the middle. She was trying to play him again, like a fish. Reeling him in, letting him go seemingly. I started to wonder if maybe he'd slipped off the hook for good and she didn't realize it yet. I called into the living room, "Charlie? You packed yet?"

"No!"

"Go do it. Your mom's here."

I expected to hear another protest, but instead heard the clumping of teenaged feet getting up from the sofa and going upstairs.

"How has he been?" she asked.

"Well, at least he hasn't broken into any federal buildings lately," I said darkly. I was still holding the coiled orange cord from the mower. I held it up. "He broke the lawnmower this morning."

She moved her lips, like she was going to say something, but then she stopped herself. I could guess. We'd had this argument before and compromised. In her household, he was far too young for hard, dangerous work like mowing lawns, but in my household, he was more than old enough to buckle down and do a few chores.

At last, Charlie came down and joined us in the hall. He had his backpack stuffed to the brim. He must have just shoved some clothes on top of his books. "Did you say goodbye to your Dad?" I asked him.

"He's in his office. He's writing," he said. He shrugged. "Tie on the door. I knocked anyway. No answer."

"What, no kiss for your dear old mom?" Scully asked. "I guess you didn't miss me that much."

He sighed but presented himself to her for a hug. He definitely was taller than her, full inch and a half, maybe two. She hugged him tightly. Whatever her faults that I nitpicked sometimes, you couldn't doubt that Scully loved her boys fiercely. It definitely brought out thoughts of mama bears and cubs.

With Scully and the boy off, I picked up doing Saturday chores again. I changed loads of laundry. Then I headed to the yard. I sighed as I looked at the mower, then I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. I put the cord back on the mower and pushed the whole lot to the garage. I left it back in its corner and got into the Honda. I knew that they still made those old style reel mowers. Nothing on one of those that he'd be able to break. Maybe he might be able to cut his toes off still, but even that was less likely than with the electric one. I drove off to the home center.

I was testing out the newly acquired reel mower in the increasingly white hot June afternoon when Fox poked his head out the back sliding door. "You're missing the race," he said. He pointed at the mower. "What is that?"

"Long story," I said. I pushed the mower, which wasn't nearly half as hard to push as the heavy ass one of my youth had been, over to the against the garage to wait until I was done with the race. It made a satisfying snicker snick sound as it clipped the grass.

"Someone named Jim Simpson called while you were out. Said he was sorry to have missed you on Friday, but he hopes he can see you on Monday," Fox said. I groaned.

I'd gone out jogging for Friday lunch and at the Castle, a woman I'd never seen before had matched my pace for a while and said to me, "Jim's sorry he can't be here. He says he might be on to something and needs some more time to check it out. Something to do with something called the Peshtigo Project." Then she'd broken away and gone down another block. What was it with my contacts anyway? "Jim Simpson" is good, and I know he's a runner, but can't we play cloak and dagger some other way and let me work out in a nice air-conditioned gym? It was almost enough to make one nostalgic for the halls of the Hoover and all the clandestine stuff that went down there. Meanwhile I was no more assured than if I'd never started poking into this in the first place.

Fox seemed to be waiting for an explanation of who Jim Simpson was, so I said, "Contact of mine. I have him looking into the boy's little adventure."

"Are you sure it's wise for you to go digging like this?" Fox asked and I walked up to the deck. I shook my head. No, I was pretty sure it wasn't, but what did he expect me to do? Dollars to doughnuts, Fox had already called on his own string of contacts.

"I made some lunch," he said. "I assume you saw Charlie safely into Scully's hands? And any sign of Walt yet?"

"Good, yes, and no."

Fox let me into the kitchen and kissed me just because. Then coped a feel of my ass as I walked over to the sink to wash my hands. Somehow I doubted there would be much actual watching of the race this week. I've said before that Fox is an indifferent cook and is happy just to open up a can of soup and call it a meal. That's basically what he did. Leftover pizza from last night and warmed-up vegetable soup. "Hey, how did the pizza manage to escape our own personal plague of locusts?" I asked. "Did you hide it or something?"

"Nah. If you'll notice, it's the one with vegetables on it," Fox explained. Of course. The only thing green that willingly went past the boy's lips was made that way by food color. We ate quickly, without much talking, then turned on the small TV on the counter. While Fox cleared the plates, I went to the gun safe.

It's a little ritual we have, a continuation of one I used to do even before I met Fox. Watching the race and cleaning my gun seems to go together like chocolate and peanut butter. Something useful to do while amusing myself. I grabbed my smith and wesson as well as Fox's SIG. Walt must have taken his with him, because it wasn't in the safe. Then, because I was pretty sure it hadn't been done for a while, as I stopped in the kitchen, I asked, "You want me to grab your Walther while we're at it?"

"Sure," he said. I went to go grab most of the rest of our mini arsenal. Besides the Walther PPK which Fox kept up in his office, in a locked desk drawer, I found the switchblade icepicks of death. Not that we've seen any alien bounty hunters for years, sent 'em packing, but you never know. Best to make sure the action was still good. I figured I could skip the hunting rifles this time, same for the little Beretta I sometimes wore in an ankle holster.

Fox had already stripped down the SIG and was at work cleaning, not actually watching the race. He did all of this just to humor me honestly. I set the rest of the arsenal on the table. "We should get down to the range sometime soon, for target practice," I said. "It's been a while. We could bring Charlie. It's more than time to get him started."

"Don't you think he's kind of young?" Fox asked. I'd have guessed that was his answer. Despite everything, how well we meshed mostly, we did have some pretty significant differences. The biggest one I think is that at heart, deep down, I'm a lawman, always have been, always will be. It had been a big blow to my ego to leave the FBI the way I did and no coincidence that I took up law again, just from a different side, when the struggle was over. For Fox, the FBI and his career in law enforcement had just been another means to his end of finding the truth. He still carried a weapon and kept one in his desk drawer because he thought there was a chance of danger still to himself and his family. But I didn't fool myself that the instant he ever thought he was completely safe, he'd never touch a gun again. As for me, I thought a person was a fool not to know how to shoot and that conspiracies and aliens aside, there was still plenty enough evil in the world to watch out for.

"If we lived out in the country, I'd have been having him plink tin cans off the fence with a twenty-two starting years ago," I said. That's how I started. It's kind of traditional. My father taught me. His father taught him, and so forth.

"I still don't know," Fox said. As we worked and half watched the race, we batted the issue back and forth a little, nothing approaching a real argument, just two old dogs worrying at the same bone. Then eventually, what Fox said was, "Do you know what the boy needs? A dog."

Oh, no. No siree! I've heard that one before. You couldn't trust the boy to mow the lawn without nearly killing himself. Who did Fox think was going to take care of the damn dog? "No. He's never expressed the slightest bit of interest," I said. "Now, you tell me that you want a dog and we'll start negotiations."

"I don't see what you have against dogs," Fox said.

I didn't have anything against them, really, but didn't see much of a point to them either. Cats, now cats were fine. Sophie had jumped up on my lap and settled herself nicely, a warm, comfortable weight. She'd stay there for as long as I didn't try to pet her. They didn't expect too much from you, but they knew what they wanted and they always managed to find a way to get it. A man had to admire that in a creature. "And I don't see why everyone thinks I should be a dog person, just because of the name."

And so we went round and round for a while. This particular argument was old, worn and comfortable, like the pair of gym shoes that you use to mow the lawn. Finally though, the weapons were cleaned and back in their places. We moved out to the couch to watch the finish of the race. The race was on the new track they'd built last year not too far outside of Indianapolis, just for NASCAR races. Things were getting down to the wire. My favorite, an upcoming rookie, Jody Dale Earnhardt, cousin or nephew or cousin of a nephew or something to the famous Dale, pulled into the pit. I groaned. "Dumbass move there," I said as I watched the pit crew swoop down on the car and swarm over it like monkeys, replacing just two tires, not the full four, but he still couldn't stand to lose the time. With this new track, there'd be no way he could regain his standing because passing was so difficult.

I never did get a chance to see how he did. Fox, of course, had a plan to distract me. Right after I'd made my comment, Fox stoppered any further ones by covering my lips with his. I let him kiss me for a while, then pushed him away, saying, "Hey, buddyboy, some of us are trying to watch a race here."

My protest was, of course, pro forma and of course Fox didn't buy it for a minute.

This was another tradition, one we'd kept for years and years. Necking on the couch during the race. For all the NASCAR I watch, you think I'd actually see a race finish now and then, but no. Almost never. I didn't mind. Though it'd been a while since I'd watched a race. Recently, something always came up to get in the way. It'd been, what, since last summer I think that I'd had a real chance to do this. I missed it.

He pushed me back and laid on top of me. His weight was deliciously crushing, comforting almost. Definitely belonged here on top of me. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close as we kissed. Pretty soon, his hands were wandering here and there, rubbing my nipples through my t-shirt. His tongue was demanding entrance to my mouth one minute, then the next his mouth was roving across my face, down my jaw.

Even as I was getting more and more turned on, I also felt a different kind of closeness, a kind of happiness welling up from deep inside. It made me squeeze Fox tightly, never wanting to let him go. It was a confirmation yet again, like I hadn't felt often enough, that this was the one. My only one. My Fox.

I let him go and started tugging his shirt up, suddenly impatient. He slid down my body, helping me get his shirt off, then he started mouthing my hardening cock right through my shorts. It was torturous and wonderful and teasing and I wished that I could just wish my shorts away. Not long thereafter, Fox was pulling them down, freeing me and swallowing me in one quick motion.

Yes, oh, yes. It was so good. I could forget sometimes just how talented Fox was, orally speaking. But something was missing. "Hey," I said, my voice rough with desire. "Get up here."

A little awkwardly, because we were two tall men on a narrow sofa, Fox positioned himself on top of me, so that I had equal access to his cock. I teased it, licking the head clean of precum, then let the head enter my mouth. He gasped some and I could see he was fighting the urge to thrust deep into my mouth. He let me take it at my own pace though, thankfully. His weight was all more or less draped over my body but it was a good kind of crushing. I liked his hardness and weight on me. I liked being pinned down by him, not being able to move.

Sometimes I still wondered how good I actually was at this, compared to the other people over the years who Fox has had. This was the only cock I've ever sucked, the only I ever would. I've gotten better at it with practice and Fox has never complained, but I'm also sure he has had better. I've never completely repressed my gag reflex, though these days I can take him in most of the way. Never all the way.

I teased his cock some more, nibbling on ridge, flicking my tongue against the sensitive underside. He lifted his mouth from my cock to say, "The penis is not a toy."

"Oh, yes, it is. The best kind of toy," I said, though when I put my mouth back to him, it was in more seriousness, taking him in deeper, sucking harder. He got to back to work too. With only the task at hand to distract me, I soon had only his mouth on my mind, trying to get more of it, to go deeper into its warmth and wetness.

I probed between his ass cheeks, teasing, exploring with my fingers what I really couldn't see. I must have hit something exactly right, because Fox moaned, then tensed, and suddenly he couldn't stop himself from thrusting, because he was coming and my mouth was flooded with warm, salty fluid. It'd taken me a while to get used to both the taste and the sensation of this, but I liked it now, if only because of the good memories of it. He slumped for a minute and I wanted to protest, because I was still ready for more, needed more. And pinned like I was, I couldn't effectively thrust upwards. I was dependant on him to pleasure me.

And he did. A moment later, he started bobbing his head up and down, taking me in all the way. I could almost feel him smiling around me. Then I was coming with a loud moan. I collapsed bonelessly against the couch, unable to move. When Fox rolled off of me, I half wanted to protest, but the rest of me was glad to be able to breath deeply again. He wedged himself back onto the couch, right side up.

"Hold on," he said, reaching for a tissue, "You missed a bit."

He wiped my chin clean of a stray bit of come, then kissed me deeply. I felt the same wellings of feeling as I had earlier and he must have as well, because we just hugged each other tightly, trying to occupy the same place in space and time, like we were trying to meld our bodies into one. I felt light, giddy even and stupidly happy.

"You know, as hot as it was when we started, sex with you has just gotten better and better," Fox was saying. "You were such a confused straight boy at first. It was kind of cute, but I like it better these days."

I'd once asked Fox why he'd taken the chance with me. Afterall, the first time he'd tried to touch me, I'd pushed him away. To this day, I don't know why I let him blow me, rather than punching him, which would have been a more natural response for me. And he'd said, "How did I know? How do I know anything? I just do, most of the time. I guess there were such sparks between us from the minute we met that I figured there had to be something there. So I took a chance."

I'm glad beyond words he took that risk. But then Fox had always been a big risk taker. I felt myself drifting off to sleep. My eyes shut. I could feel Fox get off the couch. He tugged my clothing more or less into place. I sort of helped him, lifting my ass at the appropriate time, but I couldn't do much more. I felt two kisses, one to my forehead, one to my chin, then I was alone. I napped, as satisfied as a cat.

Later, I was sitting on the sofa, watching the news, Fox gone upstairs to check his email. No word yet from Walt about my truck, even though I'd called his cell and left a message. I was starting to get worried, really worried. Jilly, you could almost count on something like this from her. It wasn't like Walt to do something like this. He was reliable.

Then the newscaster was talking about a refinery fire. In Delaware. Raging out of control. Yes, the exact same one that Jilly had been talking about earlier. No word yet on causes. At least it didn't sound like they had any suspects in custody, so hopefully Jilly and crew had gotten away with this. If they didn't, I wouldn't be hearing from them directly. This was not, by any stretch, an action that had been sanctioned by the organization we both work for.

Now, I don't want you to think that this was the kind of action that our organization plans or approves of. Any damages we cause during one of our civil disobedience actions, at least damage to property, is minor and usually temporary, more or less easily removed. The point is to focus uncomfortable media attention on the perps, which can be enough to make them change, or sometimes even force them out of business. On a personal level, I had my own mixed feelings about this. This level of destruction was not something I could accept normally. And I had the feeling that this was actually an action gone very wrong, that the whole point of the action had been to force the company to catch the fire before it reached the main body of the refinery. You see, if nothing else, wholesale destruction of pollution sources like this is nearly as bad for the environment as leaving them there.

As for this particular refinery, I don't think any of my organization's usual antics would have made a damn bit of difference to them. The petroleum industry pretty much has the industrialized world by the balls still, and in particular, this company was connected to an old oil family that was also a continuing political dynasty with way too much power. Our normal actions, they would have brushed off like flies, with a swipe of their tail.

So I fretted. I worried. I called Walt's phone again, asking him to please call me. I called Jilly's phone, asking her to call. When the news was over, I switched between the twenty-four news channels until I found one of the that was reporting on the refinery fire. I watched it burn again and again, looking for any clues as to Jilly's safety. The phone rang. I answered before it even finished the first ring. It wasn't Walt, or Jilly.

It was my executive director. "John, turn on the news," she said, after greeting me.

"The refinery fire?"

"Yes, do you know, did Jilly have anything to do with that?"

"I don't know for sure. She was showing me some reports about chemicals she was finding in the wetlands nearby there. Have they come asking questions? Have you heard anything from Jilly?"

"No and no. But I just want to have my ducks in a row if someone does ask," she said.

Jilly knew, it was just understood, that if she got caught out on any of these extracurricular activities of hers, that we'd have to leave her hanging in the breeze, that we'd have to cut her loose. She understood. Unfortunately, that's the way of the world. We're an organization that depends on people giving us money to do what they define as good works.

When the current executive director found out what Jilly did as a hobby, she demanded that Jilly leave on file an undated but signed resignation letter. If Jilly got caught, it'd be my duty to haul it out and date it appropriately, so that she'd no longer be working for us at the time of the incident. I thought it was kind of a dirty trick and was just glad that Evie, our exe, didn't know that I sometimes shared Jilly's little hobby.

"Far as I know, you have no cause to worry. You know she's good at what she does."

I was off the phone with her a short while later. Then Fox came down. I explained the situation to him. Then we both worried together. Eventually, he went out to the driveway, stopping to grab the basketball. He often worked out worry on the blacktop that way. We had a basket set up on the garage. I grabbed the phone and went out to watch him shoot again and again. It must have been two hours later, nearly one in the morning, that the phone finally rang.

It was Walt. "What happened? Where are you? Where's Jilly?" I demanded before he could get more than a word in edgewise. Fox stopped his ball playing and listened. You could just about see his own questions fighting to get out. "Where's my truck?"

"We're on our way back to your house, in your truck. Jilly is right here beside me, though she's a little doped up at the moment. We've just come from the emergency room. I'm sorry, I was so caught up that I didn't think to check messages."

Emergency room? Jilly was hurt? "What happened to Jilly? Is she okay?"

"A few nasty grazes, and she broke her wrist in a fall, but nothing serious," Walt said. "I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I brought her over there. It's closer than her house. And I think it would be quieter there for her."

Walt didn't have to say it, but he was thinking of her housemates. Jilly kept quite the motley crew around to help her pay the mortgage, and while it was colorful and cheerful there, it was never quiet. Jilly lived with people who made her look normal. Once Jilly had gotten really sick with strep and the roommate who was supposed to be looking out for her threw out the antibiotics and was feeding her garlic and other herbs instead. Not the place I thought Jilly should recover. "You don't have to ask, Walt," I told him. "Hurry home."

I hung up and turned to Fox. He was holding the ball, standing directly under the flood light we had focused on the basket, a gorgeous man if I ever saw one. The light blessed him with golden softness, highlighted his hair. "Well?" he asked me.

"Jilly broke her wrist. Walt's bringing her here."

Walt didn't take too much longer to get there. He shepherded a sleepy Jilly through the living room. She had a bandaged cheek, a cast on her right hand and a generally battered look to her. She was also drugged to the gills and didn't recognize me besides a bleary wave. "We can make up the couch," I suggested. "Or if you want her upstairs with you, that's all right I suppose."

I wasn't too surprised to find that Walt wanted her in his bed. Only after she was tucked away safely did I confront him.

You see, he was wearing an obviously borrowed, long sleeved black t-shirt and black pants. They were both tight on him and a little too short. Under the grimness that an emergency room visit produces, I could also see a certain glee. He'd gone on the same "hunting trip" that I'd turned down earlier in the week.

"I didn't think ecoterrorism was your style, Walt," I said. "How did Jilly talk you into it? No, never mind. I know Jilly."

"I thought she might need me along, to watch out for her," Walt explained. We can't help it. Walt, especially, but me as well, still have a problem being overly protective of the women in our lives, of thinking of them as ladies, not as, in Jilly's case, thirty-something ex-Marines with obvious commando training. I know in his Bureau days, it had taken all Walt's professionalism to send women out into the field, just as if they were men. I think it's a common attitude among us men of a certain age. But Jilly was no lady and she didn't need to be looked after.

"She certainly didn't need me for that," Walt concluded. "She got hurt rescuing another one of our party. But I'd say it's fair to conclude that Jilly can look out for herself."

"You can tell me all about it in the morning," I said. I was getting too old for this up all night thing. I left him to take care of Jilly. I collected Fox and dragged him to bed with me.

Day 13

It was Fox that woke me this time. He opened the shutters, allowing day light to come streaming into the room, then, as I was sitting up in the bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, he tossed a bag onto the bed. "Rise and shine, sweet cheeks," he said. He was gawdawful cheerful for it being this earlier, but then he was always a much better morning person than me. And he was delightfully sweaty, in his running clothes still, dark patches discoloring the heather gray t-shirt.

I opened the bag, though I could tell from the logo on it what was inside already. Yeah, Fox was good with the grand gestures, but he also had a touch for the small ones sometimes too. Krispy Kremes on a Sunday morning. What could be better? Attracted by the rustle of the waxed paper, Dale jumped up on the bed to see if he could get any of the action. The black and white cat was a real butterball and a regular crumb hunter. Only cat I've ever known who liked doughnuts. Sophie turned her nose up at them and kept her sleek, girlish, calico fur covered figure. I pushed him off the bed gently, "Uh-uh," I told him. "Too much more sweets and you won't fit that handsome tuxedo of yours any more." He jumped up again, undeterred.

I did my best to ignore the cat and focus on the important matter at hand. You see, Fox getting doughnuts wasn't entirely altruistic, even if he wasn't going to eat any himself. There was thing that just drove him crazy. I discovered it by accident one fine weekend day several years back. It still drove Fox crazy. In a good way. Remember what I said about Fox knowing which of my buttons to press. Well, that works the other way too.

In the bag were a couple of those chocolate frosted, cream filled doughnuts that I liked so well. I had a little routine for eating them these days, which I did today. First, I licked the chocolate icing off, slowly. It kind of got in the way of the main event, and I think Fox also kind of liked to see my tongue in action. I grinned a little at him as I licked. He stared at me. Then, one careful bite off the end of the fried dough circle, just at the right spot. I chewed slowly and carefully, savoring the rich sweetness fully. "Thanks, lover," I said after I swallowed.

Then I poked my tongue delicately at first, into the cream filling that was just about dripping out of the doughnut by now, forced out a little with some pressure from my fingers. I licked a little of it out of the cavity, purposefully getting some smeared on my lips, so as to have an excuse for lick them clean with my tongue.

Who knew why this turned Fox on so much? Who could really explain the origins of any turn on? Like I said, I discovered this all by accident one day. I think maybe it had something to do with watching me, a man not normally known for passionate behavior, abandon myself with such relish to this sensual pleasure, the contrast of it. But then again, maybe he just liked the look of it and the obvious, somewhat juvenile connotations of something being cream filled and me sucking that filling right out.

He was watching me dumbly and settled himself at the foot of the bed, chin propped on his elbow, elbow propped on his knee. As I licked my lips clean, he worried his running shoes off his feet without once taking his eyes off of me. The turn on for me wasn't so much the food itself, but the power of it, knowing that for a little while at least, I had his utmost attention, a power trip on my part I suppose, though a harmless one. It'd been a while since he'd taken the time to buy me Krispy Kremes on a Sunday morning and I admit I had been wondering if the display had lost its appeal to him.

I stuck my tongue deeper into the cavity and made a little moan of pleasure at the taste of the vanilla cream and the smoothness of it in my mouth. If he played true to form, I wouldn't have to wait long, and he did. A moment later, he'd sprawled across the bed and put his hand on my that was holding the pastry. "Enjoying yourself, are you?" he asked. He relieved me of the doughnut, setting it on the nightstand.

"I was," I said, trying to sound petulant. It wasn't long before he'd tackled me, cleaning off my lips himself. Doughnut forgotten, I let myself be kissed thoroughly and well. I sort of vaguely noticed Dale jumping up onto the bed to bat the discarded doughnut onto the floor but Fox was keeping me too busy to grab it away from the cat. What the heck. The cat would find some way of getting what he wanted anyway.

Meanwhile, our kissing was getting more intense and Fox was rock hard, so was I. He'd laid himself on top of me full length and was grinding his erection into mine, harder and harder. I was still naked from the night before, he was dressed in his skimpy running shorts. They were silky. His sweaty smell was something that never failed to turn me on and I was sniffing at every bit of skin he let me get at, hungry for more of his scent, more of him. He opened his legs just slightly and trapped my cock between his thighs, and then rolled us over so that I was on top. His erection was trapped between our bellies. "Go on. Do it fast," he whispered at me roughly, so I started thrusting hard between his thighs like he wanted. I didn't last long, but neither did he. We came quickly, like a couple of kids, and I felt as lighthearted as a kid, laughing a little out of sheer happiness as we pulled slightly apart from each other. Then laughing some more when I caught sight of a black and white paw poking out from under the bed, trying to snag a partially eaten doughnut and drag it into hiding. I grabbed the doughnut. It was kind of bedraggled, with a few bites that obviously were from feline jaws. I put it up out of the cat's way again, then turned back to snuggling.

"Walt or Jilly up yet?" I asked after a brief, but intense cuddle.

"Not that I noticed," Fox said. "So, should we get our big date out of the way, or do you want to wait until this evening?"

"Out of the way for sure," I said, thinking of the piles of bills to pay. We'd skipped last weekend because of Charlie, meaning more work this weekend and some of them would have to go out by Monday or just after to get there in time. Better to get it done while the household was still quiet. Funny how just a couple of weeks ago, I was thinking about how big the house was and that maybe Fox and I should consider moving someplace smaller. Now we had two adult houseguests and Charlie coming home tonight. The place was beginning to feel like a zoo.

"I don't suppose you made coffee?" I asked. There were still two doughnuts in the bag, though I intended to eat them considerably more tamely. Coffee would be necessary though.

"Yeah, coffee's ready," Fox said.

A short while later, we were set up at the dining room table, bills spread out before us, coffee at my elbow. I had my check book, Fox had his. Ours was a complex system, figured out with much fighting and head butting years ago, battered into a shape that more or less worked for us. Both of us were too stubborn, and in some ways, too independent to fully combine finances. I'm not going to go into all the boring details of who paid what bills and why and how we balanced the radically disparate levels of income so that everything was more or less fair. But the system we had preserved household harmony mostly, though there was a little bickering as each of wrote the checks for the bills we were responsible for.

"Damn water and sewer bill has gone up again," I grumbled after I licked and sealed that particular envelope. Stamps had gone up again too. Nearly a dollar each these days. We could have had almost every bill paid by electronic transfer I suppose, but I just didn't trust it for some reason, and besides, that would have meant some changes to a system that worked.

"You want me to float you some to cover it?" Fox asked. "Or take it over?"

"No," I snapped. I'd been paying that bill for longer than I'd known Fox. I could cover it. Couldn't a man gripe? And so it went.

As we were nearly finished up, Jilly came down. She was dressed and trying to sneak past us. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" I asked. In the morning light, she looked even worse than she had the night before. Her coffee and cream skin was more like gray and I could see that in addition to the bandage on her cheek, she had one on her forehead and another on her non-casted arm. She had an ace bandage around her left ankle, even so it looked kind of swollen. Her black clothes were ripped and had a good bit of dried mud on them.

"I thought I'd call a cab and go home," she said weakly. She had her cell phone out as if she was going to call out, but she looked like if she didn't sit down soon, she'd fall down.

"Maybe when you don't look so much like something my cat puked up," I said. "Siddown."

She did, amazingly. Fox had stood up and pulled out one of the dining room chairs for her. She plopped her butt right down onto without a protest. She must have felt worse than she looked. "I just want to go home and disappear for a while, John," she said. "You don't want me here. I screwed up bigtime. Should have gone down perfect. Not like that. Never meant to set fire to the whole place."

"We'll talk about that when you aren't messed up on pain pills," I said.

She shook her head and I took in her general state of being again. "We'll talk about it when you aren't messed up on not being messed up on pain pills. Damn, Jilly, you may as well take them. You look like hell."

She didn't protest too much after that. Between Walt, Fox and myself, we got her settled on the couch, though Fox and I smiled at each other once, as if in thought of what had happened on that couch yesterday. Walt patiently fed her the pills that the emergency room doctor had prescribed and some of the soup Fox had heated up. When she was sleeping again, Walt took the easy chair next to the couch, pulled it closer yet and held her uninjured hand lightly.

"You think the cops traced you at all?" Fox asked Walt.

"I don't think so. No one saw us. She broke her wrist when she fell down a ravine in the dark," Walt answered. He stroked her hand a little with his thumb. It was kind of sweet to see. He obviously liked her and now was tending solicitously to her. Watching them, I'd say it was safe to say that Walt had found his way off the Scully hook pretty much. He wasn't yet caught up into Jilly's snares though. So it seemed.

Hours passed. I did more laundry. Fox helped by folding, which perhaps is the kind of help I could have done without. I could look forward to wrinkled t-shirts this week, I could tell. It took real reverse talent to mangle clothes the way Fox could when his mind wasn't on task, which it wasn't. I did all the clothes waiting in the laundry room, noticing that mostly I hadn't done a stitch of Charlie's clothes. I'd asked him to bring it down. He didn't. Let him suffer the consequences of having to learn to do his laundry by himself. Jilly drifted in and out of wakefulness, sometimes able to focus on the nature documentary that the television had ended up on somehow, the compromise show. I suppose a show that nobody wanted to watch is the compromise show, right? Jilly got up to go to the bathroom at one point and Sophie took off after her. When Jilly came back, she asked, "Is there any reason your cat is sitting on the edge of the sink, crying like someone's trying to kill her?"

"Oh, she just wants you to turn the faucet on for her so she can get a cold drink," I explained, before I got up to go turn on the faucet to a medium drop for the cat. The things I do for these ungrateful animals.

Eventually, the door rang. I checked my watch. It was about time. When I double checked the door, I was right. It was Scully, bringing Charlie back. This time she had Billy with her as well. I welcomed them into the house. "Hey, otherdad," Billy said. He was a soft-spoken kid and tried most of the time to act normal, as if nothing was weird or strange about him, his talents or his origins. He was growing up, his voice had dropped a couple of octaves overnight, so it seemed and the Mulder nose didn't seem quite so oversized on a face that mostly had the fineness of Scully's features. Not quite seventeen, but he going to college in the fall. I was pleased, honored and surprised to know that despite several good offers, including from both his parent's alma maters, he was starting at my alma mater in the fall. No, not the Marines. Syracuse University. Away from home, but not all that far. I thought he'd do well there.

"Mom said you wouldn't mind if I hung around for a while," Billy said. "A couple of weeks. I kind of miss Charlie. He's a twerp, but you know."

Meanwhile, Fox had gotten his checkbook and was talking to Scully, "Okay, Scully, name your amount."

"What?" She had hardly gotten into the house and she was obviously confused.

"I've seen how much this boy eats," he explained. "I obviously haven't been paying you anywhere near enough child support over the years."

Scully laughed wryly. "You finally figured that out. It's okay, Fox. It really is."

We drifted as a group into the living room. Uh-oh, I thought, when I realized it was happening. I'll give Scully this much. She's a big girl. She knows when she's made her bed and has to lie in it. I watched her take in Walt, who was now sharing the couch with Jilly, propping her up as they watched some old science-fiction show together, a Star Trekish kind of thing. Scully's spine stiffened along with the rest of her. She tossed her hair, now kind of faded to gray. Then she swallowed hard and decided to take her lumps. You could tell it hurt, but she obviously knew she'd made a decision which could lead to exactly this. "Hi, Walt," she said, forcing herself to be lightly casual. "Hi, Jilly, you okay? You look pretty bad."

"You should have seen the other guy," Jilly said wanly. Though better looking than this morning, she was still in poor shape.

"I'll get going," Scully said. "It's okay with you guys that Billy stays for a while, isn't it? I know it must be a bit crowded here at the moment."

"It's his home," Fox said, immediately, without thinking about it. I would have said the same given a chance to put a word in edgewise. "He doesn't need to ask."

For a minute, I thought about how once, long ago, I shared this house with no one. No spouse. No kids. No pets. Just me rattling around in it, working too hard and living too little. If I'd been thinking zoo earlier, it was even more so now, with two kids and two houseguests, one of them sick. You know, I thought that I liked it much better this way. Yes, much better.

Day 14

Fox caught me out, talking to the cat. It was early Monday morning and he was sound asleep. I'd been lying in bed, enjoying the profound silence of a household at rest. It was maybe an hour before my usual alarm was scheduled to go off. I was up, worrying about the coming week already, borrowing trouble I'm sure. As if I didn't have enough of my own. So when Dale hopped up on the bed and nestled his not inconsiderable bulk on my stomach, I was prepared to enjoy it. Unlike Sophie, who hated to be petted, Dale could get into moods where he couldn't get enough of it, mostly, but not always related to the current state of his food bowl. I stroked his round, velvety body and listened to his purr with pleasure, remembering how tiny he'd been as a kitten that Fox had dragged home one day. "Hey, babycat, sugarface. I'll bet you want Daddy to get out of bed and feed you, don't you?" I asked Dale fondly. "I'm not going to, so don't waste your breath, honeycat."

Being caught saying things like this isn't exactly good for your tough guy image. But cats are like that. First you're like, well maybe it's not such a bad thing to have them around. Then they worm their way into your affections, and before you know it, you're letting them jump up on the counter and calling them sweetie and talking to them like you're a fool. I put on a good face of stern tolerance for the cats most of the time when Fox was around, but this time, he caught me.

"Hey," he said sleepily, from the otherside of the bed. "You never talk that way to me."

"You'd kill me if I did, buddyboy," I told him. I laid it on pretty thick for Fox's benefit. "Yes, sweetums, pookiepie. Daddy Fox would grab the Beretta right out of the bedside table and shoot me right between the eyes if he ever caught me talking like this to him. Wouldn't he, pumpkinbutt?"

"Hrrrmph," he said, head still partially buried in the pillows. He was awfully cute, naked, sheets down to his legs, hair mussed, still looking debauched from our bout of lovemaking after we'd gone to bed. It was almost enough to make me wish that I could get away with talking to him like that.

"You know," he said, partially excavating himself. "After all we've been through, I never expected a little pussy to come between us."

I was feeling every ounce of the eighteen or so pounds of Dale's feline body on top of my abs. "You can call this pussy many things, but little is not one of them."

Dale decided to use this moment to start his little bread kneading action thing. With unsheathed claws. I wondered who had snuck into my house overnight and replaced my cat's claws with little stiletto daggers. I sucked in a breath to stop myself from crying out from the pain. I very subtlely laid my hands on top of Dale's body.

"Fox, I think you can guess what I need you to get," I told him.

"Well, that's one way of getting rid of him," Fox said, then started digging in the drawer of the bedside table on his side of the bed. We were good at this by now. At the exact same time Fox dug the clippers from underneath the box of condoms, I had Dale grasped firmly in my arms, on his back. He squirmed, but generally took this with good grace.

"Hah! Gotcha, foul beast," Fox said as he carefully clipped off the needle sharp tips of Dale's claws while I held the wriggling animal. When Fox was done and I released Dale, he bolted out of the room like the proverbial bat out of hell. We both snickered at him. I got out of bed and shut the door after him. He was a smart cat, that Dale. He'd opened the door on his own this morning, batting at the handle with his paws until it turned, one of his usual tricks.

Then I got back into bed. "I'm going to miss you," I told him. I was leaving right after work today for a trial in Wisconsin. Federal court in Milwaukee. Jilly and five local activists and I'd say a pretty good chance all things considered that this might be the time I didn't pull it off. Not only did I not want to be away from home, this situation had the potential to be devastating. Could I still face Walt with him knowing I'd let his new girlfriend get sent to the federal pen? Or face myself. I really wished I could have brought Fox along with me. Other times, I might have done it, asked him to come along, but with Charlie and Billy here, there was just no way. Someone had to stay home and hold down the fort.

"Hey, I'm going to miss you too, guy," he said, pulling me into his arms. He kissed me tenderly and starting making love to me. You might call it just a handjob, but there's not a thing in the world wrong with one, especially not with Fox at the giving end. His hands are sure and strong and his kisses were just as passionate as if he were fucking me. He took me to my orgasm with such strong tenderness that I wanted to cling to him forever, never let him go. As we cuddled in my afterglow, he had to reach across me and turn off my alarm. I reached for him, to return the favor and he shook his head. "You don't have time. It's okay. That was just for you. Go shower, I'll work on getting the boy out of bed."

Jilly shared my truck ride into the city and Charlie for once, went in with Walt. I needed to talk with Jilly.

"Are you up to this, Jilly?" I asked between sips of coffee from my commuter mug. "I can go, ask for a delay because of your injury."

"No, let's get this over with," she said, a decidedly fatalistic note in her voice. We hadn't talked yet about what went down over the weekend, but I could tell she was dying over it. And that was more dangerous than I could say.

"Jilly, no," I said. "If you're not up to this, then we're going to ask for a continuation. You go into that courtroom sounding like you are, they're going to chew you up and spit you out. We're going to fight this, but we can't do it if you've given up already."

"I haven't," she said, sulkily, sounding like a child.

"I'm not going to let you walk into that courtroom and lay belly up and let them rip you to shreds. I'm not going to let you down, but you have to fight."

"I'm tired, John. You know how long I've been doing this. And just how little good it seems to have done."

"Tell you what. You fight me the good fight tomorrow in that court, you can quit. Do whatever it is that you want. Not what the trees tell you to. what you want. Find a husband and have babies. Run away to French Polynesia with your new boyfriend."

She made a face at my first suggestion and a happy, sudden smile at the second one, but that faded a little later, "I had no idea, John. I didn't realize I was stepping on Dana's territory. I never would have. I'm no poacher."

"Dana's been playing Walt for years. I think maybe he's realized he doesn't have to play her game. Don't worry. She told him to go. Doesn't matter if she didn't expect that he wouldn't come back at her beck and call."

Eventually we got to work. Jilly off to her office, to collect data, work on the background evidence that would support our claims that the company we'd targeted was a clear and present danger to public safety. I was working on finishing up last minute things for the case, adding to the mountain of paperwork we'd already assembled. Sometimes I think court is a battle, these days, not so much between the person and the state, or even between the lawyers, but between the piles of paper that each side assembled. Lucky. I was good at all of that. I had done my homework and that just might be our salvation.

Lunch was another cloak and dagger jogging date that I really didn't have time in my busy schedule for, but what was I going to do? As I approached the Castle, the expected slim jogger approached me, looking entirely too comfortable as far as I was concerned. Didn't he at least have the decency to sweat?

"Any word?" I asked. "What's this about something called the Peshtigo project?"

"Place in Wisconsin, up north. Used to be in the heart of the north woods before they were logged out of existence. Famous mostly because it was the most fatal fire in this country's history. Same day as the Chicago fire. Just a small town in Wisconsin now."

"And..."

"With what appears to be a secure research facility just outside of town. Rumor has it that the predecessor to this research program was based in Virginia. Rumor abounds that it's still in Virginia and we're still looking into that. Has Fox's son complained of any of the symptoms of lost time? Any nightmares? Other symptoms of possible abduction?"

"I don't think so. But he's a teenager. He doesn't tell me anything."

"It's curious. How he avoided being killed. He should have been shot."

"You think something happened to him?"

"I don't know. But all the signs are pointing in the direction of the Pestigo project at the moment."

"Have you got anyone inside this facility yet?"

"Not yet. I understand you're headed to Wisconsin soon. Word gets around."

Word certainly did get around. Though the trial was obviously a matter of public record, I was kind of surprised that "Jim" had kept tabs on me like that. "Yeah. So?"

"Interested?" he asked.

What kind of dumbass question was that? Of course I was interested. It was only a matter of when and if I could risk it. Dangerous, not just because it might get in the way of the trial, and because what kind of example it would be for the boy. I changed positions back and forth on myself ten times in thirty seconds.

Jim took my indecision as 'convince me' and started talking again, "We could really use an experienced hand on the team. And it seems like if anything, it's your place to suss this out. Considering the probable origins of both the boys."

"The trial..." I began. I owed it to Jilly and the five people she talked into following her my full support, without any distractions. And I would have to talk it over with Fox. That much should be obvious.

"We'll contact you after the verdict," he said. "We're going in regardless. We think it might be yet another pocket of remnants."

Then "Jim Simpson" veered off across the street and away from me, picking up his pace considerably. I went back to work right away, wondering what my decision would be and what I would say to Fox. And how I would stop him from wanting to go in too.

I only stopped in the breakroom long enough to take my lunch out of the fridge. I was planning on making a working lunch this time, not sparing any time to really sit down. The pink haired little intern was in there, wearing a tight, scanty nothing of a top with nothing on underneath. Back when I was growing up, they called stuff like that underwear and girls might get away with wearing it to the beach or to the clubs, but not to work. Someone ought to talk to the girl about appropriate office wear. I tried to remember who her supervisor was as I got my lunchbag out of the fridge.

"John," she said, "Are you really gay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I heard Jeanine say that you used to be married. To a woman."

"I was. We're divorced. And yes, I'm really gay." I said curtly and left the room. I didn't have time to be made uncomfortable by a little intern with not enough sense. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought she was coming on to me. I wasn't interested if she was.

Just after lunch, I got a call. "John Doggett, legal," I said, again, I added the name of our organization because it was an outside call.

"Mr. Doggett," an unfamiliar voice said. The budget nazis were real strict in some ways. They'd pay me a decent salary, but wouldn't spring for the more expensive phone system which would have included caller ID

"I'm Amy Watson, the nurse at _ Academy. I have you listed as an emergency contact for Charles Scully. I'm sorry to bother you but I can't reach either his father or his mother."

The switch from work self to parent self can be so fast it's stunning. but concerns about the upcoming trial were immediately forgotten. "What's wrong with Charlie?" I asked. "Did he get in a fight or something?"

I wouldn't have put this past him. Or him getting in far worse trouble. He'd find a way.

"No, he's been sick, he needs to be taken home."

Sick? This kid had never been ill a day in his life, much to his consternation. Never had to be taken home from school before. I mean we're talking no ear infections, not a cold ever, the kid had never once before tossed his cookies, except that time at the amusement park he ate way too much pizza then went on the fastest roller coaster in the park. Probably something to do with his miracle baby heritage. Billy had never been ill either. "Are you sure he's not faking?"

"Quite sure, Mr. Doggett," she said, sounding angry. I suppose she didn't have the experience with him that I did. I suppose there must be some parents in the world who would ask the same thing, not because their kid never got sick, but because they wanted to get out of not leaving work.

"Okay, no problem. I'll be right there," I said, already gathering my files, mentally trying to rearrange my day. Fox was probably off with Billy, buying out some poor unsuspecting bookstore somewhere.

I had to conclude, when I got to the school, that Charlie really was ill. When I retrieved him from the nurse's office, he looked wrung out, his carrot hair damp and sticking out every which way, like he'd washed his face. He looked like a sick kid. I put the back of my hand on his forehead. Something I never had to use on him before, but not something you forgot. I'd once had a kid of my own, conceived the normal, human way with no alien intervention. And he got sick and had ear infections and the like.

Charlie was noticeably hot. Strange that he'd be sick like this at the start of the summer, for no good reason. He seemed surprised as I was and pretty upset by the whole thing. "Okay, bucko, let's get you home to bed."

The nurse, some new one that I'd never met before was hovering. "Are you going to be able to take him straight to his home? And will someone be with him?"

"Oh, sure," I said, gathering up Charlie's bag. If nothing else, I'd have to stay with the boy until Fox got home.

"Do you mind of I ask your relationship to Charlie?"

"I suppose stepfather."

"Odd, I've spoken with Ms. Scully before and I don't recall her mentioning that she was married."

"She's not," I said. "You must be new here. I'm not with Ms. Scully. I'm with Mr. Fox."

She looked confused and perhaps a little shocked, but I didn't have time or the inclination to explain myself to her. I gathered up my child and left. He definitely was sick. I tried to talk to him in the car, on the ride home, and he didn't say anything at all. Nodded a few times in answer to direct questions. I tried to draw him out, talking about his upcoming vacation. Charlie's school went year round, taking several breaks that lasted from two to four weeks through out the year. One of them was coming up soon, one week on either side of the fourth of July. But he wasn't interested in any plans. He didn't even protest when I brought up that I was thinking about taking us camping then.

At home, Fox was in the kitchen with Billy, putting away some more groceries. "Hey, what's up?" he said, as Charlie came in the door. I'd been debating myself whether I should keep Charlie outside for the vomiting bout that seemed immanent, or whether to rush him along to the bathroom. He decided to go inside. As he saw Fox, he opened his mouth to talk and then totally lost it. It kind of made me ill to watch. He tossed his cookies all over Fox in a way that Fox probably hasn't been thrown up on since his wild undergraduate days.

"Charlie's sick," I said, kind of weakly. Charlie fled from the room, headed to the nearest bathroom. Billy looked kind of like he might loose some cookies too and retreated to the living room. Fox looked briefly queasy but reined it in quickly. His iron control over himself surprised me sometimes, but then I forget sometimes that this is a guy who made a career out of tracking down liver fluke men and green slime spilling aliens. A little throw up wasn't going to phase him much.

"You go clean yourself up and call Dana," I told him. "I'll clean up down here, then check on Charlie."

"Shouldn't you be getting back to work?" he asked. "You probably can't afford this time."

I couldn't but I didn't care if my family needed me. "I'm packed. If I pick up my bags now then head straight for the airport from work, I should be fine. There's also something we have to talk about. Where young ears can't hear."

"Okay, meet me in my office in, say, 15," he said. "Oh, hey, welcome home."

He leaned over gingerly to kiss me, making sure to keep his ick covered shirt far away from me. It was just a quick kiss, but as always, it meant the world to me. Then he turned away, to go change. I got to work, getting out the bucket and the mop, carefully cleaning up the partially used remains of a school lunch. Some bits of it were still regrettably recognizable. Charlie had had corn for lunch, I could tell. Ugh. This came with the territory, though, didn't it? I knew Fox had kids when I signed on. There were a hell of a lot of things I had no clue about when Fox came to me after leaving Scully, but I definitely knew he had a kid. Scully didn't know she was pregnant again when she'd made Fox leave.

I got the floor cleaned up and the mop and bucket rinsed out and put away. I grabbed Charlie's book bag to put it up in his room. Fox had pulled off his shirt and was sitting next to Charlie in the boys' room, at the foot of Charlie's bed. There was a little vomit on Fox's jeans, I noticed, just a little splash of it. He was on the phone with Scully, listening and looking concerned. He'd dug out an old digital thermometer from somewhere and had shoved it into Charlie's mouth.

"Ig gomfa fome uphiggin," Charlie muttered around the thermometer.

"What?" Fox and I asked at the same time.

"Ig gonfa fome uphiggin," Charlie repeated with more conviction this time.

Fox got a wide-eyed look of horror. He plucked the thermometer from Charlie's mouth and said, "Why didn't you say so? Can you make it to the bathroom in time?"

Charlie shook his head no and I grabbed the trash basket from the far side of the room and got it to him just in time. What was wrong with the kid? Fox rubbed his back while he threw up, while I held the trash basket. Is it wrong to feel attracted to one's lover while he's wearing his kid's vomit and talking to his ex-wife on the phone? If so, I was definitely one sick puppy here. There was something wonderful about seeing him act so tenderly, so sweetly solicitous to a kid who just this morning had been a snarly terror.

Meanwhile, Fox continued to talk to Scully, "Yeah, he's throwing up again. No, there wasn't time for the thermometer to finish working. I'd definitely say he has a fever. Very warm to the touch."

I took the waste basket away. When I returned, with a clean waste basket and then a bucket to set by the kid just in case, Fox had gotten Charlie settled in bed, under the covers, no sign of throw-up anywhere and Fox in clean clothing again. Because so much of the time, Fox stepped back and let me do a lot of the day to day parenting stuff, I forgot sometimes that he was quite capable of it himself. That he loved these kids of his. He was good at the daddy gig. He touched Charlie's forehead gently one last time. "Your mom doesn't think it's anything but a normal flu, but she's on her way over now. Get some rest, Chuckie."

I almost pulled out my cell phone to call Scully and tell her to hurry when Charlie didn't protest the childish nickname at all. We left him behind and shut the door behind us. "Office?" Fox asked.

I followed him in and sat down on the easy chair while he shut and locked the door behind us. He then wedged himself into the chair beside me. It was going to be too damn hard to go back to work after this. It was comfortable being with Fox, even as crowded as the chair was. "What's up?" he asked.

"I made some inquiries about Charlie's little field trip," I began.

"And?"

"My source thinks that there might be something to this supposed clone project in Virginia. But that the project is now moved to a place called Peshtigo. In Wisconsin. There's what they believe is a secure facility there, possible remnants. They're making plans to go in."

"John, no," Fox said, even before I could finish. He turned in the seat and grabbed my hands by the wrists. His grip was so tight it hurt but I didn't move to get out of it. "You are not doing this."

"What am I supposed to do, Fox? Just sit here? I don't need to tell you that this could be important. Do you think it's any coincidence that Charlie got sick for the first time in his life just over a week after he broke into this project. I don't know about you, but this has me really worried that something might really be wrong."

"I'm worried too. But it's not worth it. It had to end and it did. We're out of the game and we should stay that way. You know how dangerous this could be. I can't lose you," Fox said, anguish clear in his voice. Only so very rarely did Fox ever let me see his raw, unvarnished need like this.

What could I say truthfully to this? That he was going to lose me sometime or another? I'm not a young man any more. When he was my age, my father had been dead of a heart attack three years already. As far as I was concerned, any time I had from now on was a gift, a bonus. Sure, there was a risk going into this facility. But, despite the fact that I took care of myself, there was also a risk every day that I might just keel over, felled by my own genetics.

"You're not going to lose me to this," I promised him. "One of us needs to go, for our son's sake, and I'm the obvious choice."

"This isn't going to be like one of Jilly's little raids. Not that those aren't bad enough," he said, still holding my wrists tightly.

"I remember. I was there. I've done this before. I'm willing to take the risks." Yeah, and I'm a bull-headed bastard sometimes too. I was starting to feel doubtful, but I'd made up my mind. Seeing Charlie sick like a dog had strengthened my decision. There had to be some kind of connection.

"How well do you trust your contacts?" Fox asked.

"You know Jim. Met him before under a different name. He's good people. I don't know who his team is, haven't met them yet."

"I'd feel better if I could go with you."

"It can't be both of us."

"No, I wish it were neither of us. I wish there were someone I trusted you could take with you. Jilly, if she weren't hurt. Walter, maybe?"

"Jim is going to contact me after the trial. I'll see how things look after that."

"I don't like this. It doesn't have a good feel to it," Fox said. He was always the intuitive one. Information and decisions had a feel to them, to him. Even back at the FBI, he'd been known for being spooky like that. He could take seemingly disparate scraps of information and putting together a whole case. He could toss open the phone book and have it fall open to just the right page. I listened to him now. I was going to take this very cautiously, but he wasn't going to keep me away from it either.

"I don't like it either, but I don't see much other choice," I said.

Fox finally released my wrists. He caressed both sides of my face with either hand. "It's bad enough you have to go away for this trial, but for this too. I don't want you to leave."

"I don't want to go," I said.

His touches were feather light and all up and down my face, like his fingers were memorizing my face for sometime when it might be gone. He grabbed me behind the head finally and pulled me in close, kissing my forehead. I was getting his blessing, of sorts, to go on this mission. "Go on, you must be running out of time. It'll be fine here. Not like you've never left me alone with the boys before. Hold on. One thing. I'll be right back."

Then he hopped out of the chair. He unlocked the door and went out into the hall. I waited for him, somewhat impatiently. Yeah, I'd left him with the boys before, but never with a sick boy and me going into a situation where I might not have the energy to give him the support he might need. He came back with a tiny scrap of black, silky fabric in his hand. He tucked it into the inner breast pocket of the suit jacket I was still wearing. He grinned and said, "I saw that you forgot to pack your lucky underwear."

I groaned. "Uh, I didn't forget to pack it," I said. "I deliberately avoided doing so. And I believe that that thing would count more as your favorite underwear rather than my 'lucky' underwear."

"I dunno. Seems like you get lucky every time I see you wearing them," Fox said. He took my hands and I cooperated as he pulled me to my feet. I was tempted to take the thong out of my jacket pocket and gag him with it or something. Anything to stop that leering, wicked grin.

"I don't know why you think I'm sexy with that thing on. Nothing's more ridiculous than a man of my age wearing one of those things. It looks terrible," I bitched. I hated the way I looked in it, even though it still turned Fox on. It was just a reminder of an aging body to me. Even though I worked out hard at the gym, things were changing, and not for the better. I wasn't hit by the middle age spread like Fox. Nope, I was getting stringier and stringier as the years went by, like the old men on my mom's side of the family always did.

"It's not how you look, lover," Fox said, hands roving now to my backside. He patted my ass possessively. "It's the fact that I know that you'll be thinking about me all day. With that fabric wedged tight between your ass cheeks and every time you move you feel it and think of me. And you'll know that if I were there with you, I'd want to be right where that fabric is. Deep in your crack."

I sighed. He was looking at me with the eyes of love, which were more effective than any beer goggles known to man at disguising the obvious flaws of one's lover. But when he put it that way, how could I refuse? "Okay. I'm going to go change then. I don't think I can afford the distraction at the trial. But I'll wear them today."

He slapped my ass lightly. "Good boy," he said. "No stupid risks. And you tell your buddy Jim that I want to talk to him first."

"No stupid risks," I promised. Look who was talking, I thought. My lover was once king of jumping out of the plane first and hoping that the parachute would materialize on the way down. Having children had cured him of some, but not all of that. I was honestly surprised that he hadn't jumped on the idea that he should be the one to go, not me. We hugged tightly and I savored his presence for a few more minutes, the solidness of him, the slightly sour smell from Charlie's puke that clung a little to him, the hardness of his muscles, the silkiness of his hair in my face. I wasn't sure how long I'd be gone for. The trial could last for days probably, maybe even weeks. I missed Fox already and when he finally ripped himself out of my arms, I said, "I'll be home Friday evening, if nothing else. If the trial isn't over by then. Love you, Fox."

"Love you, John."

Then I went to go change into the damn thong. Sometimes, I'd do anything if it made Fox happy.

Day 15

I was in a cold, air conditioned courtroom, bland with the same modern furniture as was in every courtroom I'd ever been in. Flags, judges bench, jury box still empty at the moment. We'd start jury selection in a little while. Jilly was sitting beside me. She was dressed in the suit she kept for court cases, just about the only time you ever see the woman in a skirt. Today the jacket was draped over her shoulders, in deference to the cast on her wrist. She was coolly, calmly going over some files. The rest of the defendants with us were nowhere near as calm, most of them fiddling and twitching in various ways. That didn't matter. This, in a way, wasn't about them at all. It was obvious they were going after Jilly. The prosecution had already floated the other defendants a plea-bargain. Testify against Jilly and have their charges dropped to misdemeanor trespass. Against my advice, Jilly had encouraged them to take it and they'd refused.

It never got this far most of the time. Usually I was able to talk the prosecutor out of taking it to trial. Most of the rest of the time, the grand jury never made the indictment. This time though, we were going to have to follow it through to the bitter end. I was nervous, edgy and cranky from having woken alone in a strange bed.

The prosecutor walked over to me as I sat going through yet another deposition one more time. I looked up as he dropped a magazine on the table. We'd been on opposite sides before. I knew him. Not very well and I'd never liked what I had gotten to know. I didn't get a chance to get a good look at it before he said, flatly, without accusation. Just as neutral as anything else he might say. "I never knew you were gay."

What? I got a good look at the magazine. Out and About. Shit. I'd forgotten about the article. They'd promised me they'd send a copy for me to review before it was published but they never had. It all started with Fox's agent. She'd owed a few people some favors, so when someone heard that she was Fox's agent, and they'd told the people at this magazine that, she kind of felt she had to do something. She couldn't promise them Fox, of course, but I was the bone she tossed to the person instead. No, not as Fox's lover. They were doing an article on profiles of "the 25 most influential gays and lesbians today" or some kind of BS like that. Fox's agent said she knew me, just as someone she was after to write a book, which is true and is also not going to happen. And that she thought I was at least as influential as Fox. So, one day I'd gotten a call from this magazine editor. I'd told them no, that I didn't have time for such idiocy, though perhaps in not such nice words and the magazine editor just said to give her a call if I changed my mind. Then I made the mistake of bitching about it to my executive director. It'd be great publicity for us, she'd said. She really wanted me to do the interview. She ordered me to do it. So I found myself calling the damn magazine editor back and arranging the interview, after consulting with Fox, who also seemed to think it was a great idea.

I wasn't on the cover photo, but the article as described was mentioned. Since the prosecutor didn't seem inclined to pick up the magazine, I gathered it up and put it my briefcase for reading later. He was testing me, looking for some kind of reaction, seeing if he could fluster me. It was a real cheap shot and maybe it might have worked on someone else. "I never said anything before because I figured you knew. Everyone else does," I said, dryly cheerful. "It's not exactly a secret. Next time you're in DC, drop by. Meet the husband and kids."

I'd neatly striped any power that the word gay had over me as far as this guy was concerned, as well as shown him that I wasn't easily perturbed. Like I said, he was testing, probing for weaknesses. He wasn't going to find any. He said, "I just might have to do that sometime, Counselor. Good luck today."

And eventually the judge came in, the jury was allowed to file in and we got started. I'm not going to bore you with the play by play of what went down in that courtroom. Most of what happens in court in real life, not like in those courtroom dramas on the TV, is dull, dull, dull. It's nitpicking for little details which rip tiny holes in the other person's case. It's endless motions and waiting. It's trying to read strategy through little things like which persons the other side gets rid of at jury selection. Luckily, that went smoothly. Only a couple of hours for that. Seems we both had some of the same ideas for which potential jurors we wanted out, and so I was pleased to see the other side get rid of some of the ones I'd been planning on taking out. Leaving me open to toss out others I thought I wouldn't be able to. So far, so good. Opening statements, so forth and so on. You probably can guess what I said. About free expression as guaranteed in the Constitution. About the company that we'd targeted. All of that. It was a grueling day in the courtroom and I was working my hardest.

Then finally, it was time to go back to the hotel and start working on more paperwork. By the time I was hungry enough to think about dinner, I was too tired to crawl out of my room and go find some. I hate hotels in a way that only someone who travels as much as I do can. At least the room was clean but I couldn't find a decent thing to watch on the TV because some idiot had programmed out most of the cable channels and the remote was missing. Luckily, as I watched some idiotic show about stupid people doing stupid things and filming themselves with video cameras while they're doing it, trying to gather enough energy to go out into the world again, there was a knock on my door.

I opened it cautiously. Jilly, bearing in her good hand, a big brown bag with grease stains. She shoved it at me. "The least I could do was buy us dinner," she said as I let her in. I opened the bag. Polish sausages? No, I corrected myself. Bratwurst. Close but not quite the right thing. The rest of the bag contained deep fried blobs of something and onion rings. In her own kind of Jilly way, she was trying to take care of me. It'd be kind of touching if it weren't for the fact it was so...unhealthy.

"You trying to kill me or something, Jilly?"

"It's Wisconsin!" she said indignantly. "How am I supposed to not get you deep-fried cheese curds?"

I had indigestion just at the thought. She noticed and said, "If you're a good boy and eat all your cheese curds, I'll take you out for frozen custard later. Or there's a place where they sell those cream puffs like they sell at the State Fair year 'round now."

I remembered. This wasn't my first time in Wisconsin with Jilly. She was nuts about the place, about the food especially. I personally don't understand what she saw in this backwater, middle of nowhere, midwestern, flyover state. I had a sudden vision of her convincing Walt to run away with her, not to the South Seas, but to a dairy farm just down the road from a Culvers. Getting fat and happy from too much frozen custard.

"I think I'd prefer not to top deep-fried dairy products off with a cup and a half of whipped cream," I said, purely in self-defense. My arteries were hardening just thinking about this. Modern medicine had made a lot of strides in defeating heart disease, but I think it would helpless against the sheer amount of saturated fat in one of those cream puffs.

"Is that gratitude for you?" she asked. "If you're going to be that way, I'm not going to go back out to the car for the beer."

"Now you're talking," I said, finally mollified. There was one thing that I admit that the folks in Wisconsin did right, and that was beer. If I were a believer, I'd be inclined to agree with Ben Franklin's quote about how beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. Pretty soon we were drinking down a nice ale brewed in someplace called New Glarus and I was munching on the bratwurst and a couple of the fried cheese curds, leaving most of them to Jilly. The curds were crunchy and melted inside, kind of good, but way too salty and definitely too greasy. It was a wonder she'd kept her shape, the way she could pack the food in. We talked about anything but the trial as we ate. I thought maybe she'd regained her usual high spirits. Jilly's pretty resilient, all things considered.

"Thanks, Jilly," I said as she finally went for the door.

"You sure you don't want frozen custard?"

"Utterly."

She sighed in a way that made it clear that she thought I didn't know what I was missing. Then she departed, leaving me alone in the hotel room.

I decided to take a look at the magazine article that had been written about me. I dug the magazine out of my attache. I noticed the first time that there was still the little subscription mail tag. The name it was sent to was that of the prosecuting attorney. I'd kind of wondered how he'd run across the mag, especially so soon after it was just released. So he was gay, probably. A subscription to Out and About wasn't proof, but it was pretty convincing circumstantial evidence. So what? He was gay. He was still a big asshole.

I paged through the glossy rag. It was a pretty upscale gay magazine, with ads for most of the major car manufacturers and alcohol brands. I flipped to the back and they didn't even have a single phone sex ad. We might be able to let the kids see this magazine without much embarrassment even. I found the article. They'd changed it to the 30 most influential gays and lesbians. I was in the rarified company of a couple of rock stars, movie stars and even a few politicians. That new woman Senator from California was profiled. So were a couple of CEOs, some lobbyists, authors and an Episcopalian priest. I didn't read any one else's profiles. None of that really mattered to me. I was just curious what had been written about me. I hardly remembered what I'd said. It'd been about five months ago that the interview had taken place.

"I wander around the halls of ___, currently the largest, most influential environmental organizations around," the article began. "These halls bustle with electric activity, and all the signs of people working their hardest for something they truly believe in. No one has paid me the slightest bit of attention since the receptionist at the front and because she couldn't leave her post, I am left to find the office of John Doggett, head of the organization's in house legal team by myself."

Hah! Head of what team? I suppose you could call me and my assistant Jenny, or alternatively her various temporary replacements, a team. At least the photo they used of me was fairly decent, not hiding my wrinkles exactly, but not exaggerating them either. They'd captured me appearing to work, suit coat off, sleeves rolled up, phone in hand.

"When I knock on his door, he answers it himself. I am greeted by a surprisingly vital man, too busy talking on the phone at the moment to do more than find out who I am. He is handsome in a way that proves satisfactorily that some men just get better looking as they age. To call him distinguished, despite his craggy face and hair gone gray, seems almost demeaning somehow. His discarded suit jacket is hung on the back of the chair that he is not sitting in as he talks. Instead, he paces as he talks, back and forth across the small crowded office. Though __ is one of the best funded environmental organizations, there is no doubt from this office space that it is a non-profit, and one that funnels far more of its dollars into direct action than into fancy offices with matched furniture.

"Phone call finally finished, he greets me with a strong handshake. Then he rolls his sleeves back down and reclaims his suit jacket. I understand you're not a typical activist, I ask. 'Let's get this clear,' he says. 'I'm not an activist. I'm just someone who works hard at an important job that needs to be done.'

Did I say that? I must have. It was true. An activist is someone like Jilly who was putting her freedom on the line for what she believed in. I might be devastated if I lost this case, but she and the five local people were the ones who were going to be doing hard time if I failed.

Before I could finish the article, my cell rang. "John Doggett," I answered.

"Hey, guy, it's me," Fox said. His voice was sweet music to my ears, a spot of brightness in this shitty day. I'd talked to him last night when I got to the hotel, but not since then.

"Hey, buddyboy! How's the homefront?"

"Charlie is finally managing to keep some liquids down. We thought we might have to hospitalize him for a while. Did you know that the blue Gatorade is blue on the way back up too? Scully's still here. With her and both the boys around, it's almost like old times."

"And?"

"Nothing could remind me better why I left," he said. Of course. For us, the old times are not necessarily the good times. I prefer more recent memories myself. "I saw the article today. That's a great picture of you. And you said some beautiful things there."

"I haven't finished reading it myself. I've pretty much forgotten what I said."

"It's sweet. Made me get all misty in a way that's not good for my masculinity to admit. You're nothing but a big softie, John Jay Doggett," Fox said.

"Bullshit," I said, gruffly. Truth was, I missed Fox and the boys so bad I wanted to cry. Big, grown men don't do that though, especially not when they should be used to it, hardened to the homesickness. Most of the time, it wasn't this bad. I think maybe it was bad now because I'd had two straight weeks where I'd had the chance to be closer to Fox than we had for years. Add that to the stress of the trial. I was on the edge.

"Asshole," Fox said, in that certain way that made it into a term of endearment, not an insult. "I'm trying to give you a compliment here."

"Some compliment."

"You oughta take what you can get, pumpkinbutt."

I could see what Fox was doing. He read me like a book. He was good at reading people to start with and he knew me by now probably better than he knew anyone. He was keeping it light on purpose. The mock insulting banter I could handle. If it got any heavier than that, I might break down. He was giving me a chance to keep my dignity. "Pumpkinbutt?"

"The cats miss you," Fox said.

"Nah, they miss my free hand with the food bowl," I said. "Have you starved them to death yet?"

And so we went back and forth for a couple of minutes, until Fox said, "Hey, hotstuff, what are you wearing?"

Shit. I didn't think I could handle this. It'd be too close to admitting how much I missed him. And my need was too raw, too overwhelming to be handled with something that amounted to glorified masturbation. "I'm sorry, Fox. I can't. I just can't."

"It's okay. You get some sleep," Fox said. "I'll just hang out here in bed, eating sunflower seeds."

"You do that, you'd better change the sheets before I get back," I growled.

"Goodnight, pookiepie," Fox teased.

I growled. "Goodnight, Fox."

"Sweetums."

I disconnected before he could get in another endearment. I should have known better than to let him catch me talking that way to the damn cat. I crawled under the covers and grabbed the magazine to finish reading the article about me. I skimmed over most of the stuff that the guy had written about my work and what a conservative I was, my take on why I was out. I knew that stuff. I was out mostly because it was the truth about my life and because I mostly didn't give a shit about what anyone else thought.

"I notice a couple of pictures on Doggett's desk," the article said. "After I ask if I can take a closer look, he hands one of them over. It's one of him in casual clothing, arms wrapped around another man, also gray haired and strikingly handsome. They're at the beach. 'It's my spouse,' Doggett says. 'Taken up at Cape Cod. I wish I could say more. He's an intensely private person. He asked me not to say anything about him today. I have to honor that but I wish I could tell you all about him. Nothing in my life would be the same without him.' I can tell just from the way he looks at the picture, with a grin, that this is a happy relationship and that he adores the other man in the picture.

"'His love keeps me going through the tough times,' he says. 'He's everything to me. None of this would mean anything without him. This work I do, I'm doing it so that his sons will hopefully have a world that isn't so screwed up to raise their children in.'"

There was more, but I set the magazine aside and turned out the lights. I couldn't read it just now. Fox is totally right. I am a big softie, but damned if I was going to let anyone find that out.

Day 16

The trial went on. What do you want me to say about it? Truth was, it was the same shit, different day. Were you able to guess that the trials are my least favorite part of this job?

At least I'd kind of adjusted to being away from home. At the end of the day, I wasn't utterly exhausted, just mostly. I made a preemeptive strike against the possibility of more cheese curds for dinner by taking Jilly out to this Greek place I'd discovered the last time we were in Milwaukee. Not my favorite thing, but at least it was better than what Jilly would have chosen, given a chance. Nothing deep fried made it onto my plate, though of course Jilly had the cheese thing where they come set fire to it at the table.

Then back at the hotel, I was just tired, with too much work and while it wasn't home, it had started to feel like a familiar place. Rather than start in on my files right away, I dialed Fox's cell phone. He answered, "Yeah?"

It was good to hear his voice, though it didn't make me ache like it had the night before. "Hey, buddyboy, how's the homefront keeping?"

"Charlie's still sick. Not keeping anything down but liquids. Scully's still here."

"You haven't killed each other yet?"

"Almost. And I don't even have Walter as a buffer. He's been at work all hours and hiding in his room when he's not. You've gotta come home. It's nuts here."

"Soon as I can, buddyboy," I promised. "Absolutely as soon as I can."

"You know what I was thinking? I just remembered that Thursday is the anniversary of our engagement."

I'd forgotten about that. It had been just a year and a half after Fox had come back to me. We were living together by then. Life was fairly peaceful, with only a few pockets of alien danger left, but on the homefront, Fox and I were butting heads at every excuse. I loved him but I was ready to kill him most of the time back then. It had happened one day that we were arguing about something really stupid, I don't remember what. Fox could probably tell you. We had Charlie, who was still a baby and Billy with us as well, for the week while Scully had gone out to the West coast to do some forensic consulting. I think part of my gripe had something to do with the fact that Fox had guilted me into coming home from work early that day. The house in those days was also always a disaster zone every time we had the boys around and that really bothered me. And I hadn't realized yet that with his writing, Fox was working every bit as hard as I was. I do remember that I was in the middle of changing Charlie's diaper. He was crying because he always hated being changed. Billy was crying because Fox and I were yelling. I'd snapped and said something to Fox along the lines of, "Quit nagging me like you're my goddamn wife. It's not like we're married or anything." What? Did you think I was a saint? Things used to get kind of nasty back in those days and I can be a real prick sometimes.

Fox had gone deathly silent and pale with rage. He'd been tackling a sinkful of dirty dishes. Then he threw one of the mugs he'd been washing, not at me, but across the room. It shattered, causing Billy to scream even louder. Then Fox yelled, "What the fuck do you think we're doing here, dickhead? Do you think we're just playing house? Because I sure the hell ain't."

I stopped in the middle of applying cornstarch powder to Charlie's bottom, dusted off my hands and just walked away. Walked right out of the back door and slammed it behind me. Went straight to my truck and drove away, leaving him with a hell of a mess in the house, two screaming kids and dinner not yet started. Part of it was shock, I think. Up until that point, it didn't really occur to me that my lover was my family, that at some point when he moved in, he had become a spouse of sorts. Then to hear him rub it in my face. Part of it was resentment that I was working so hard to care for children that weren't my own. I drove for hours, aimlessly, grumbling to myself, simmering up a big old pot of anger. Part of me was so furious that if it hadn't been my house, I'd have walked for good. I really think the only thing that kept us together at the moment was my realization that if I wanted out, I'd have had to go back home and throw Fox out. Part of me was scared shitless that I just might find it in me to do that. Eventually I came across a wilderness area I knew. I pulled in and got out my phone. I did what any sensible man does when he finds himself lost and in trouble. I called Ma.

She'd been leery of Fox's place in my life at first, but by that point, she'd more or less accepted the fact that her only son had just started playing for the other team. So, I poured out my tale of woe and grief to her, probably talked her ear off for an hour. When I was done, I demanded, "Well?"

"Well, it's about time you made an honest man of that boyfriend of yours," she'd said.

"What?" I'd asked, not sure what I'd heard. I'd been expecting her to start lambasting Fox, that she would tell me I'd been crazy out of my head for what I'd been doing with him, that I was a fool to stay with him this long.

"You heard me the first time, John Jay Doggett," she'd said. Then she'd hung up on me. Gotta love Ma. Straight to the point and take no prisoners.

I'd spent the night by that lake, camping out in the bed of my truck, wrapped in my emergency blanket for warmth, but not sleeping hardly at all. I stared at the stars overhead and tried to make sense of my life. I'd had one marriage already that I'd succeeded in making a real hash of. And it's one thing to suck a man's dick. It can still fit relatively comfortably within a gloss of heterosexuality. You can say to yourself, well, it's not like I'm that much different, I just like sex with him, it's just one of those things, just sex. It's another level of your self-identity turned on its head entirely to change his kid's diapers and plan to wash the dishes with him every night forever and ever, 'til death do you part.

Nevertheless, by the time I was watching the sun rise over the lake, I'd made up my mind that I couldn't stand not to wash dishes with Fox for the rest of forever and that there was no way in hell I'd ever be able to kick him out of my house, because it was his now as well. I drove back into town, stopping at a chain jewelry store, waiting until they opened the doors.

Hey, I didn't know how things were supposed to work. I had only a heterosexual framework guiding me as to how this was supposed to go. My thoughts were, okay, marriage. Engagement. Engagement ring. Right. Diamonds were required. That's the way you did it, I was thinking. I don't know if I'd have done it differently knowing what I know now. I'm kind of a traditionalist. Obviously, I didn't buy the big solitaire kind of ring. I bought one of those bands with the row of small diamonds set in a plain band of gold. I think properly they're called anniversary bands. I didn't care. It seemed like the right one to get. The lady at the shop was kind of weirded out when I told her it wasn't for me, but she didn't really care. She got her commission just the same.

Then I went right home. Fox was in the living room with the boys. Billy was kneeling in front of the television, entranced by some show. Fox was slouched on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. The baby was asleep on Fox's chest. Fox's hair was wild, his eyes ringed with red and he was wearing the same baggy sweats as he'd been wearing the day before. He obviously had gotten no more sleep than I had. The house was even more chaotic than it had been when I'd left but right then, I hadn't cared. His eyes widened as I walked in, but he waited for me to talk first. I dropped to my knees in front of him. "This living in sin thing is just about killing me," I'd said. I shoved the little velvet box from the jewelers at him. "I don't want anyone else but you nagging me ever."

He opened the box gingerly, trying not to disturb Charlie. He stared wonderingly at the ring, turning it here and there to make the diamonds glint in the light. He put the box into my hands again and said, "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll shoot you."

"If I do, I'll open the gun safe for you myself. Marry me, Fox."

"Is this the point where I say some crappy romantic thing like, 'You had me at hello,'?"

"A simple yes would do." And then he let me put the ring on his finger. It was too big, so it had ended up on his middle finger. We'd always meant to get it resized, but it never happened and the ring is still there on that middle finger.

And so we'd gotten engaged. That'd been, what, thirteen years ago? Fourteen?

"So how do you think we should celebrate?" I asked Fox over the phone. I looked at the matching band of diamonds that Fox had gotten me a few days after my proposal. I wore mine on my ring finger. "Think we should have a big fight?"

"Well, since you're in Wisconsin, you can't storm out the door leaving me alone all night with two kids and sick with worry, so it just won't be the same." He almost sounded wistful.

"If it would make you feel better, you could call me dickhead again."

"How about pumpkinbutt?"

I growled at him, but he just laughed at me. Then he said, "I love it when you get all butch on me."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. I do," he said. His voice took on a certain bedroom quality as he said this. It made my heart beat quicken. "You know I do."

"You alone?" I asked.

"Yeah, up in my office with the door locked. I'm supposed to be writing. I've got that tie on my door, plus I threatened Scully with nameless tortures if she bothers me. So, what are you wearing?"

"Too much. My suit. The gray one. White shirt. One of the ties you hate because it's so boring."

"I think you'd better be taking off that suit jacket right now."

I was getting hard already, just from the sound of his voice. It was low, sultry. As I slipped the jacket off, then went to hang it up, I asked, "What are you wearing?"

"I was writing. Absolutely nothing. Not a stitch. Take your tie off, slowly. I want you to be stripping for me, even though I can't see you."

It was kind of difficult to manage without dislodging the ear bud of the cell phone, and I finally had to set the cell phone down to do it, but I slid the tie loose until the knot was undone, then pulled it from under my collar. "Tie's off," I said as I hung it up.

"Your shirt. One button at a time. Starting from the top."

I'd just undone the first button when there was a knocking at my door. I was inclined to ignore it, but it quickly became a pounding. Then, when I still didn't open it up, a familiar voice called out, "John! Open up! I know you're in there. Please!"

I heard Fox sigh heavily. "I heard that. You'd better answer it. I'll call back in an hour."

Then he hung up on me, the bastard. As I opened the door to Jilly, I said, "This had better be good. I was on the phone with Fox."

Jilly was standing in front of me. She'd already changed into pajamas. Pink with a print of princesses and frogs on them. Little pink slippers on her feet. I never would have figured her for the pink pajama type.

Her eyes were filled with tears and more had already run down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, John. I don't know if I can do this anymore. I just can't," she said, just before she threw herself at me. I had no choice but to take the ear bud out of my ear and set the cell phone aside, then wrap my arms around her and let her cry herself out on my shoulder.

"I know you can do this, Jilly," I reassured her, as I touched her gently on her back and shoulders. Comforting Jilly hadn't exactly been on my agenda for the evening, but what was a man supposed to do?

Day 17

I was surprised to walk into the courtroom in the morning to discover sitting at the other side, not the erstwhile gay Federal prosecutor that we'd been dealing with, but a young woman. A rookie, obviously. So young she couldn't be more than a year or three out of law school. I'd say it was highly unusual, if not almost unheard of for the Department of Justice to switch in the middle of a case like this. And from someone with solid, if obviously lackluster, experience. A proven record.

To this girl. She was pretty, sure. Blond, which always caught my eye, and built. But after one appraising glance, I found myself bored with her obvious good looks and got my thoughts back to business, trying to evaluate her for weaknesses even as she introduced herself and shook my hand. Her skirt was just a little too short and her jacket and blouse a little too low cut. Not enough that you could say anything was unprofessional, but definitely enough to make a point. She was obviously experienced in treading the line between sexy and just plain confident. And the way she was talking with me, she was expecting to use her looks to distract and disarm me. She'd said that she'd been fully briefed on the case by the last guy. Guess he forgot to brief her on the fact that I've got a hot number of my own waiting for me at home and he's been sexy enough to keep me interested for fifteen years.

After an hour in the court, I was willing to admit that her looks weren't the only tool in her arsenal and I'd concluded that her attitude about her looks wasn't intended personally at all, but she expected everyone to notice them and be awed or something. She'd probably be very good someday, once she'd gotten some experience under her belt. But for now, she didn't have it, and she didn't seem to have the kind of backup that you'd expect the DOJ to put behind a rookie prosecutor on what had at least seemed to be an important case. Something had to have come down from higher levels. There's pursuing a case, then there's pursuing a case, if you know what I mean. They weren't exactly throwing the case, but I began to think that they'd toned down their pursuit several notches. Regardless, I started to relax a little. This was starting to look better. It looks bad to a jury regardless to switch representation in the middle of a case. And I was beginning to get a sense of where I could find holes in their case. I might pull this off.

As soon as we were dismissed for the night and back at the hotel, I was on the phone. Not to Fox, though I'd be calling him soon enough. When I reached Walt, what I said was, "You must have a hell of a lot of markers to call in from your pals in the DOJ."

I could almost hear the mental gears grinding as he connected what I'd said. "I know where the bodies are buried," he said finally. "And who put them there."

"You know obstructing justice is a pretty serious crime," I said.

"Who's obstructing anything?" Walt asked. "I haven't heard anything about charges suddenly being dropped. I assume they still have a fully qualified Federal prosecutor running the case from their side."

"If by that you mean a kid young enough to be my child, then yes, they do. But Jilly will screech if she hears you interfered for her."

"I know. She made me swear up and down that I wouldn't intervene for her. But I'm not. I'm interfering for my own sake. Call me selfish if you want, but I'd rather my new girlfriend wasn't a convicted felon. You think there's any chance I could talk her into giving up her life of crime once this is over?"

There was a knock at the door. "Hold on," I told Walt. "I have company."

It was Jilly, bearing another paper bag in her good hand. "I brought dinner," she said.

"Walt's on the phone," I told her. "You want to talk to him?"

She just about dropped dinner and tore the phone right out of my ear. I had been thinking about giving her a serious talk sometime soon, asking her what her intentions toward Walt were, because while I loved her and would hate to see Walt hurt her, well, me and Walt had been through hell together. Old war buddies, I suppose. Almost family. And if I ever had to choose sides, well, it's be obvious I'd be coming down on Walt's side. Seeing her now though, I didn't need to ask. She was in love. Or at least in a pretty heady case of lust with a big dose of like. The kind of thing that easily grows into love when nurtured properly. It occurred to me that I'd never seen Scully look at Walt that way, not recently, not ever. We traded phone for paper bag and she wandered off down the hallway, starting to coo over the phone already.

"Hey, just remember to bring it back before too long!" I called out to her as she headed to her room. I sighed and peeked into the bag with some trepidation.

I'd gotten lucky. Nothing even remotely approaching deep fried anything. She'd talked some German place into doing take out. There were two clamshells in the bag. One with what looked like sauerbraten and spatzle. The other with plain roasted pork and creamed spinach. After setting the other one in front of Jilly's door, I took the sauerbraten and ate it watching the same idiots doing stupid things on camera show I'd watched earlier in the week. It was kind of funny in a terrible way. And the food was good. I guess Wisconsin cuisine isn't all bad. It ain't home though, that's for sure.

I was nearly done with dinner when the room phone rang.

"Hey, tough guy," Fox said. "Walt's still on the phone with Jilly. So I figure we should be safe from that interruption for a while."

"I think she's in better spirits anyway," I said. "Any news from the homefront? Charlie doing any better?"

"Cautiously, I'll say yes. He's kept down some bananas and applesauce, but his fever hasn't yet dropped past 100. It's a good thing he's almost never sick, because he's a real miserable patient. Hasn't stopped bitching once. And you know, I never knew what a fan club the boy has. All these girls keep calling the house, wanting to talk with him. They giggle when I answer the phone. I don't know if I'm ready for this," Fox said, then sighed. True, Billy had gone through the early part of adolescence ahead of Charlie. But if Billy had dated anyone ever, male or female, or even just had a crush on them, you couldn't prove it by us. Probably he was a late bloomer. Fox says he was, and that he didn't start getting those kinds of urges, at least not strongly, until well into college. But he'd made up for lost time and then some since then, hadn't he?

"So, what's Charlie's take on this fan club of his?"

"He eats the attention up with a spoon. I've had start putting a timer on his phone calls. God, John, I think we've got an enthusiastic heterosexual on our hands."

"Soon as he gets better, you think we ought to have another one of those man to man talks with him?"

"You can do it. You're much better about putting the fear of God into the boy than I am. Oh, hey, I got the flowers you sent for our anniversary."

"What makes you think I'd send flowers? I'm a guy. I don't do that kind of thing," I teased. Of course I'd sent them. Big vase of sunflowers. Of course. Fox just wasn't a rose kind of guy. Never let it be said that John Jay Doggett couldn't do romance when the situation required it. I often gave Fox flowers for special occasions, just because he was so hard to buy other gifts for. With few limits on his budget and a somewhat poor sense of impulse control, generally speaking, if Fox wanted something, he just went out and got it for himself. Who'd have thought Fox would like getting flowers though? He did, though it had taken a lot of teasing on my part to get him to admit to this.

"Well, okay, but then I hope you don't mind if someone else who signs himself John is sending me my favorite flower."

"Oooh. You've got a secret admirer," I said, smiling, wondering the best way to shift this conversation to something a little more intimate. Bless Fox. He caught my clue and took the matter into his own hands.

"I think I'd better toss 'em out then, because I don't want anyone else but you to be sending me flowers. I want you to do something for me, guy," Fox said.

"Anything."

"Good. Go put the 'do not disturb' sign on your door. There will be no Jilly interruptus tonight. We're already behind, what, four times on this 21 day plan of yours."

"Three. We made love twice last Sunday," I said. "Hold on. I'll be right back."

I did as Fox asked. I also took the opportunity to take off and hang up my suit pants. Knowing Fox, he wouldn't give me the time, but just tell me to wad 'em up and toss 'em in the corner. When I let him be the boss, he got a kick out of making me be messy. Or I suppose, more accurately, out of getting me so hot and bothered I didn't care.

"Okay, back," I said, settling myself on the bed, lying down and already half hard with anticipation. Once there was a time where I didn't see what some guys saw in phone sex. That was before I met Fox. The man knew phone sex. All there was to it. I've never known anyone else who could have me achingly hard just from talking to me. Even back when I was a young man and got erections at the slightest excuse. Or even no excuse. But Fox did it for me. Even before I met him in person, I'd known he was a big phone sex fan. See, my first contact with Fox was searching for him after he was abducted and I'd had the somewhat dubious privilige of sorting through his old phone records and credit card transactions. Yeah, the man knew phone sex. It was one thing I was more than content to let him lead the way on, let him be my total boss while he took us to places that I could hardly imagine going, just by the sound of his voice. He'd been good when I'd first met him. But as his skills as a writer improved, god, so had his phone sex.

"What are you wearing?"

"My shirt from earlier. That blue one you like."

"And anything else?"

"Nope." I'd shed jacket and tie earlier, and my boxers with the pants.

"Tell me you've got the sleeves rolled up." For some reason, Fox liked it when I did that. He thought it was sexy as heck. Who am I to question what my mate found attractive?

"Yeah, rolled up and the shirt's unbuttoned. Hanging open, unbuttoned, like you like."

He paused for a second or two, probably imagining me in my lonely hotel room, mostly undressed for him. "I've been writing," he said, after a bit. He spoke softly so that I had to listen closely to him to hear. It was almost more exciting that way, having to pay close attention. "I'm sitting in my office. In my desk chair. Wearing nothing but a smile and a hard-on that's meant only for you.

"I'm imagining you. Maybe you're slouched on the bed, half propped up against the head board. Maybe the cord of the phone stretches across your naked body, tangling in your pubic hair. It's warm there in Milwaukee tonight and there's a few beads of sweat on your forehead and your upper lip. Think about me leaning over you, licking them off. Think about how sensitive your upper lip is and how you'll squirm when I bit it softly.

"You're hard, aren't you, lover?"

"Yes." I all but whimpered. I couldn't stop thinking about him nibbling on my upper lip. And he'd been right about how I was sitting on the bed, even where the damn phone cord was. He knew me so well. As if he could guess my every move.

"Don't touch yourself. Yet," he said. His voice was still soft, making me hang on every word intently, and it was becoming huskier and deeper. "Good. I want you to tell me how you're feeling right now."

"I need you," I whispered urgently. "God, I love you, Fox."

"I know. Your right hand. It isn't yours. It's mine. When you touch yourself with it, it's me touching you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said. He knew me so well. I'd do anything he asked me, anything at all, at this point. And he was going to make it easier for me to come. My right hand was the one I always masturbated with.

"My right hand. Take it. Brush the fingers up your abs, right in the middle. From the base of your cock upward. Through your treasure trail, upwards to your chest."

I did as he directed and with my eyes closed, I could almost imagine it was his hand, that he was there in the room with my. I shivered at my own touch and bit my upper lip to stop the shiver.

"Play with your chest hair a little. Trail your fingers through it. When you come, it's going to be all over that chest hair, messy and wet."

Again, I squirmed at his words, and I might have moaned just a little. I did what he told me and it was kind of ticklish, but mostly it felt good. As I listened, I was no longer in some impersonal hotel room in the middle of nowhere, but an eternal someplace with Fox, his voice more real, more present to me than the furniture and walls around me. I no longer felt the scratchy bedspread underneath my ass. Just his/my hand on my body, doing as he instructed.

"Pinch your nipple. Lightly. Tease it."

I definitely moaned.

"Your nipples are hard already, aren't they? Like little eraser nubs. Tell me how you feel now?" His voice was getting that raspy quality that made me think of nothing but sex. Of times where he had me on my back with my legs wrapped around his waist, and him driving in hard, starting to thrust deeply.

"I need...I need your touch. I need your hand on me. God. I need you here fucking me, making me think about nothing but you."

"Touch yourself. Slowly. Trail your hand back down the middle of your chest. Pause right at your navel. Think about me now. I'm running my left hand up and down over my hard cock. Slowly. From tip to base, then down again, and again. Just a gentle pressure now. I'm thinking about how it should be your mouth on me. Your beautiful mouth taking me in, tonguing that spot on the underside of my cock. Teasing me."

I could picture myself doing this. Kneeling in front of him, looking up into his beautiful hazel eyes, no, they'd be mostly green at this moment, I thought, as I took his cock in my mouth as far was I could take it, then teasing him. I knew that at this moment, he was jerking off, hand moving up and down his cock, pulling on it in the way that would drive him to orgasm quickly. He always had an overhand grip on his dick, so that the padding on the pinky side of his hand rubbed over the head and the thumbside of his hand was around the base.

And I was breathing heavily, just from thinking about it. I wondered if I would come as soon as he let me start stroking myself. I hoped not. I wanted to draw this out as long as I could. It'd been too long since I'd felt my lover's body on me. I wanted him. This was almost as good.

"Move your hand down and just hold your cock for the moment. Wrap your fingers around the base so that the side of your hand is resting against your balls."

I usually used an underhand grip, thumbside of my hand rubbing against the head. I was doing holding myself that way now. I was rock hard, breathing heavy. I would have done almost anything to hear him say the words, telling me that I could start to bring myself to completion. I would have done anything at all to have it be his hand touching me like this.

"Now, stroke up your beautiful cock just once. Keep your hand at the top. Your cock is sticky with pre-cum, isn't it?"

I couldn't give him any answer but a mewling cry. The head of my cock was so sensitive. I heard his breath catch in response to this and I knew that he was giving himself the stimulation he was denying to me at the moment, jerking himself off. Somehow, knowing that made my cock twitch and my balls tighten up.

"Please," I found it in myself to say.

"Now," Fox said. "Pleasure yourself with your hand. Knowing it's me that's touching you. Me that's rubbing the head of your cock. Me that's smearing pre-cum all over your shaft. Me that's going faster and faster. Tightening my grip. Wanting to fuck you so bad."

That was all it took. I was over the edge, thrusting hard into my hand as my orgasm came, semen flowing over onto my belly, other hand over my mouth to stifle my cry. Oh, God. I'd forgotten how he could do this to me. Even as I wanted to lie and bask in the glow, I hurriedly picked up the phone I'd dropped while coming. Fox was still working on himself, but breathing heavily into the phone, not talking for the moment. He was close. He needed a little help from me to put him over the edge too.

"Fox, I came. For you. All over my belly. Got some on my shirt too. You're so good to me, lover. You drive me so wild. Like no one else can."

"I'm close. God. I need your mouth on me, sucking me hard," Fox said, then his breath caught again, and for a minute I heard nothing else from him. Just the sounds of my lover coming. Then there was a muffled groan, then a moment of silence. Finally, a little chuckle.

"That was good," Fox said, languorously. "I'd forgotten how good. You oughta go out of town more often."

"Not as good as if you'd been here. I miss you, buddyboy."

"Me too."

"Can I clean myself off yet?" My semen was getting cold and I was uncomfortable with the air conditioning blowing on me.

"No, not yet," Fox said. "I want you think about it for a while longer. To remember it for next time."

I sighed. "You're one sick puppy."

"You like me that way. Love you, tough guy."

And so we murmured endearments to each other on the phone for several minutes. Nothing too sappy, but nothing as I'd care to repeat either. Make no doubt about it. We may have been hundreds of miles apart, but we'd just made love. We were entitled to a little cuddling and it happened that the only kind available to us at the moment was verbal cuddling.

After a while though, I heard a knock at the door. Not mine, but the door to Fox's study. He ignored it at first, but then he said, "That's Charlie. I should probably see what he needs."

Fox put the phone down and I heard distantly as he said, "Hey, hold on a minute, kid," and then, "Whatcha need?"

"Is that otherdad on the phone?" Charlie asked. He sounded bushed. Still obviously sick. For a moment, my heart contracted with the homesickness. My place wasn't here in this hotel room doing God knows what which might or might not make the world a better place. I should be there to make sure our kid was in bed. That he had juice or Gatorade or whatever the hell he needed. I should be there to put my hands on his face and judge whether he still had a fever, then gently brush his hair out of my eyes. Scully might have been a doctor, and Fox was their actual father. But I was the only one who'd had a sick kid before.

"Yeah, it is," Fox said.

"Can I talk to him?" Charlie asked.

My heart leaped. I hadn't pictured him asking for me. Fox picked up the line again and asked, "I know it's late, and you need to be getting to bed, but do you have a few minutes to talk to Charlie?"

"What kind of dumbass question is that? Hand him over," I said.

When the phone had been transferred, I said, "Hey, kid. Your dad says you're still pretty miserable."

"Are you coming home?" he asked. His voice was weak, querelous. The instant we were done talking, Fox better damn well see that the kid was back in bed.

"Yeah, I've got a commuter hop I catch tomorrow evening at six forty five. Then I take the zoo flight out of O'Hare to Dulles. I'll be home for the weekend by this time tomorrow. I'm probably going to have to leave again Sunday night, but the trial is going fast. Maybe just another couple of days," I promised him.

"Come home. Dad's cooking sucks," he said.

"I thought you weren't eating much yet," I said, hopefully. Maybe he was feeling up to more than had been reported.

"He doesn't heat up the applesauce right. There are hot and cold spots. And he won't let me have any cinnamon in it." Charlie said. He sounded on the verge of tears from this supposed injustice. Most likely he was just uncomfortable and probably confused. He'd never experienced this kind of thing before. He'd never even sprained an ankle or broken a bone. He'd had a couple of accidents where he should of, but always by the time we'd reached him, nothing was wrong with him.

"He's probably right. You should eat the blandest food possible when you're sick. And just stir it. That'll get rid of the cold spots."

"Otherdad, Mom and Walt broke up, right?"

"Looks that way, kid."

"It wasn't, you know, what I said. That one day."

"No, this has nothing to do with you, though that was really rude. They've been fighting since before you were born."

"She used to cry, when she talked with him on the telephone. I thought she'd be crying a lot now that Walt is seeing Jilly. But she's not."

"Sometimes people aren't meant to be together. They're happier apart. Like me and Barb." Me and my ex-wife were on speaking terms, mostly, these days. She'd remarried. So had I. We talked civilly at each other. She didn't throw things at me these days. It was a definite improvement. She'd even come to Fox's and my commitment ceremony.

"But sometimes they are. Like you and Dad."

"Yeah, we are. That's one thing you'll never have to worry about," I said, and I meant it. I truly believe that one of the best things you could give your kids was a rock solid relationship with your spouse. So maybe ours wasn't a Norman Rockwell kind of family, but it was solid. I'm a damn stubborn bastard and fifteen years ago, I'd made up my mind and it was going to stay made. "Look, I gotta catch a few winks. Long day for me tomorrow. You get some rest too, right?"

"'kay," he said. "Dad wants to talk to you."

"Love you, Charlie," I said. I didn't say it terribly often to the boys, but I tried to say it far more than my father had ever said it to me. I can remember him saying the words twice in my lifetime. Once when I joined the Marines. Once the night before I got married the first time. I wanted more for Fox's kids than that.

"Love you, Otherdad," he said, sounding not just tired and sick, but shy for some reason.

Then the phone was handed back to Fox. I'll admit that we did not immediately hang up, nor did I get to bed at any reasonable hour. In fact, we talked until I lost track of time and the phone was falling out of my hand and I was nodding off. The phone bill was going to be a bitch next month. Good job that it was one of the ones that Fox paid.

Day 18

Suddenly the trial was over much faster than I thought it would be. The last witness was called and then the examination and the cross-examination was over. I'd been expecting the prosecution to call several more witnesses, but you can guess that I was as glad as hell they didn't. Suddenly we were making our final statements to the jury. Then it was over. All but the waiting.

Then two walking on the edge of a razor hours later, I heard those golden words that every criminal defense attorney lived to hear. "Not guilty, your honor."

I let out the breath I had been holding. I heard sighs and huffs. I hadn't been the only one holding my breath waiting for the pronouncement. I felt nothing but sheer, blessed relief. I could have laughed hysterically or cried, if I weren't the kind of guy that could hold it together under pressure so well. Then someone was in my arms. First Jilly, then one after the other, the two female co-defendants and the one more demonstrative of the three male co-defendants. There were claps on my back and handshakes from the others.

A bit more paperwork to handle and then we were free to go. The young prosecutor shook my hand, even as her chin was trembling. She, at least, had been fighting the good fight, even if she'd been thrown in with hopes that she'd fail. I felt a little sorry for her, even as I was I so glad I could have hugged her. Or anyone else. Heck, I'd have grabbed Walt, as forbidding and standoffish as he can be, for a clinch if he'd been nearby.

The local co-defendants rounded up Jilly and me and dragged us to this bar for a celebration with their friends. I was light headed with relief as I was pushed onto a barstool and a beer put into my hand. Jilly kind of stayed in the background of all this bonhomie, seemingly pretty happy and drinking her fair share, while all the local environmentalists signed her cast. But I could tell something was on her mind. I didn't think too much about it. People kept pressing drinks at me, making sure I was well-lubricated and generally speaking, well entertained. I had an occasional thought that maybe I should add some food to my system to ballast the alcohol, but mostly it slipped my mind. For a little while here, I was the hero. I'd done it. For me and Jilly, this was just another day at the office, so to speak. But for the local people, this was the adventure of their lives. They'd never been involved in an action so big with such severe consequences. People- friends, lovers, family members of the local co-defendants kept coming up to me and hugging me and thanking me profusely. Then, often buying me a drink.

Finally, I caught sight of my watch. Shit. I'd have to rush if I was going to make it to the airport on time to catch my flight. Except driving my rental car was about out of the question by this point. As I was formulating a plan, trying to balance the variables of finding a cab, getting back to the hotel to get the last of my stuff, finding some way of disposing of the rental car, there was a hand on my shoulder and a welcome, familiar voice saying, "Hey, Marine, come here often?"

For whatever reason, far be it for me to ask why, the whole equation of getting to the airport on time had lost all meaning. Fox had come to pick me up from work before, but never traveled this far to do so. I was a little confused to see him in a bar in Wisconsin. Confused but glad as hell. Perhaps I should have taken it as an indication of my sobriety level that I never wondered why Fox would have come this far when he should be at home.

"I thought that line was hey sailor," I protested before taking a sip of my beer.

"You were never a sailor. You were a Marine. What? You aren't going to kiss me hello?"

"In public. Straight bar." I said looking around. I thought maybe I'd been drinking a little too much to adequately defend myself should any rednecks get any ideas about showing me how far this country hadn't come in the last fifty years.

"You've given a frank interview to a national gay magazine, but you won't kiss me in a bar filled with hippies, tree huggers and other liberals. Women wearing comfortable shoes."

Okay, so maybe the man had a point there. I looked around. Nobody was much paying attention to me at the moment. I got off my barstool and plastered a big wet one on Fox's face. He laughed after he'd pushed me away.

"Jilly said you'd been drinking, but she didn't say how much. You're just about falling down drunk, aren't you?"

"Not quite. I'm not as thrink as you dunk I are." I was trying for the usual way to mangle the line, on purpose and ended up mangling it on accident. "Uh, drink as I thunk you are," I tried to be charming, but I didn't think I was getting very far. Fox laughed anyway and steered me back to my bar stool. Then he eased my current beer out of my hand and put it further down the bar out of reach. I would have protested, but I'd rather have a Fox in my hands than a beer any day.

"I have no clue how you thought you were going to make your flight home in this state," he said, shaking his head in amusement at me. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Dunno. Lost track after about eight. Or nine. Doesn't matter. Not driving the damn plane." I said. Something about Fox was particularly delicious seeming to me right then and I kept trying to kiss him, to do better than the first sloppy kiss he'd given me. He'd come all the way out to Wisconsin to get it. He deserved better than that for sure. I was touched. I tried to wrap my arms around him without falling off the bar stool, which seem pretty likely at this point. He let himself be hugged, but squirmed around so that he was more hugging me than the other way around. Holding me up on the bar stool pretty much. "Love you, Fox. Martin. Whatever."

"You really are drunk," he pronounced. Then called out, "Hey, Jilly, how much has he had to drink?"

"He's a big boy, Martin," Jilly responded. She raised her own beer and took a sip. "I wasn't keeping count."

"I think it's about time we got you back to the hotel then, pumpkinbutt," Fox said, reaching for his wallet. "You owe any on your tab?"

"Haven' bought my own drink once," I said. "Not drunk. Jus' a lil' tipsy. An' who you calling pumpkinbutt?"

"You," Fox said. He pulled out a couple of bills from his wallet anyway and laid them on the bar. A tip for the bartender for dealing with me I suppose. "Car keys, John. I'm taking you to the hotel."

I attempted to dig through my pockets for them, but didn't find them. Found some dollar coins though and my attention was distracted immediately. "Oh, hey, you gotta hear this. Found a great song on the jukebox. Love this song."

I tore myself out of Fox's custody and lurched over to the juke box. I was beginning to feel the alcohol catching up to me, but I was still coordinated enough to plunk the coins into their slot, then punch the right button. A second later, the gravelly, mellow voice of Louis Armstrong started singing, even as Fox started digging in my pockets, searching for the keys himself.

"Quit getting fresh!" I scolded him.

"I'm just trying to get your keys," he said, smiling at me like you'd smile at an idiot child. He patted my cheek. The one on my face. Not on my ass. "I'll get fresh with you later when you're sober."

Meanwhile, Louis sang,

"As I walk down the street  
seems everyone I meet  
gives me a friendly hello.  
I guess I'm just a lucky so and so

The birds in every tree are  
all so neighborly  
they sing where ever I go.  
I guess I'm just a lucky so and so

If you should ask me the  
amount in my bank account  
I'd have to confess I'm slipping,  
but that don't worry me.  
Confidentially,  
I've got a dream that's a pippin.

And when the day is through  
each night I hurry to  
a home where love waits I know.  
Yes, I guess I'm just a lucky so and so."

I think I sort of tried to get him to dance with me. Just a slow swaying kind of dance. But I was finding it harder to keep my feet. Fox slipped a firm arm around my shoulder, to keep me upright and probably keep me under control. "I love you, Martin," I said. At least I remembered now what his name in public was supposed to be. Martin. Not Fox. People wonder when you call your own husband by his last name. Right.

Someone handed Fox the suit jacket and tie I'd discarded a long time ago. "Hey, isn't this my tie?" he asked.

"Like you ever wear it! Too damn boring for you. You 'n your crazy ass ties. A plain tie is reliable. Like me," I said, fingering the red silk with a subtle weave pattern. Fox draped the tie around my neck and started searching the jacket pockets. A moment later, he came up with the keyring that had the rental car key. Eventually Fox determined that no one in the bar was sober enough to his satisfaction to follow us to the hotel in my rental. Fox made arrangements to leave it here in the bar's parking lot until tomorrow. Then we had to see about Jilly getting home. She opted to stay longer and promised she'd take a cab. Fox couldn't convince her to come with us.

"You're kind of funny when you're hammered," Fox said. He gave me the come-along and more or less gracefully got me out to his rental car. I sat down heavily in the front seat, but he had to reach across me to buckle me in when I kept fumbling with the seatbelt. I used the opportunity to cop a feel. He chuckled and pushed my roving hands away, "How do I know you'll respect me in the morning?" he quipped.

"I always respec' you, buddyboy. Yer too good to me. I really am a goddamn lucky so and so," I said fondly. I tried to lean over and kiss him again, but he was safely out of range and starting to drive. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I gave up and just sat there, watching the scenery for a while.

"Hey, let me know if you're gonna puke, so I can stop the car and get you out. I've cleaned up more than my share of vomit this week already."

I kind of dozed as he drove. I woke briefly in the hotel parking lot. He was shaking my shoulder saying, "Room key."

I tried to comply, but eventually he just ended up searching my pockets again. He came up with the card key a moment later. I tried to get out of my seatbelt, but Fox just said, "You wait there. I'll be right back."

I slept again, woken up when he opened the car door. I craned around to see what he was putting in. My luggage. "Wher' we goin'?" I asked, more out of curiosity than actual concern that he'd make me do something like get on a plane and go home as tipsy as I was.

"You'll see. You probably won't appreciate it in the state you're in, but a guy's gotta try."

He drove us north of Milwaukee, then off a state highway to a little bit west, past the reaches of Milwaukee suburbs. Finally stopping behind a big Victorian stone building. "Wher' we?" I asked as I came to again.

"Cedarburg. Our hotel. You think you can act mostly sober at least past the front desk?"

"I'll try fer you, buddyboy."

It was pretty funny, him trying to keep me upright as we traversed the lobby. I'll bet part of him wanted to be a Neanderthal at that point and just drape me over his shoulders and carry me up to our room. Would have been easier. I know I would have appreciated it. At least we appeared to be checked in already. It was a fancy place. Lots of antiques. Patterned carpet. Wouldn't have done to be seen by the desk person walking in so smashed like I was. Finally Fox shoved me into a small elevator and took us up to the second floor. The hallway was less problematic because he allowed me lean on him heavily.

Finally, something big and soft rose up to meet my back. The room spun slightly around me. Fox was gone, but then he came back loaded down with luggage. He dug around in one of my bags for a bit, then fussed around in the room's bathroom. He came out bearing a glass of water and some ibuprofen. He presented them to me. "Go on, take them," he said. "You'll thank me in the morning."

It was a struggle to sit up and drink the water, but I did it because Fox asked. I'd do anything for him. Finally one thought occurred to me, something that had kind of been nagging at the back of my skull for a while. "Kids?"

"Scully's with them," Fox said, as he was starting to help me get undressed, pulling my shoes off my feet. "What's up, John. This isn't like you to get drunk like this."

"No' drunk. Jus' bit tipsy. Good job too. I'm a horrible drunk."

"Okay," Fox said reasonably. "It's not like you to get tipsy to the point where I have to put you to bed."

"We won," I said, as if it should explain everything. But it didn't. Not even by half. "Gonna fuckin' quit my job. Sucks all t' hell. Can' stand this any longer. Too much pressure.

"Shoulda lost. Woulda lost. Walt called in some damn favors or somethin'. Should've lost her, Fox. Can' stan' it any more. Fox. What if I did? Not a God damn mira, mirac. Wonder worker."

I reached out for him and this time he let me hold him. I wrapped myself tightly around him and though it must have been uncomfortable, he didn't protest. Good thing too, because I needed him by then. I was remembering why I usually hated getting more than mildly buzzed. I turned from a happy, voluble tipsy into a damn weepy drunk with little to no provocation. I was crying suddenly against his warm and solid shoulder and I didn't care. So much for keeping my dignity. Didn't matter. This was Fox in my arms. All that mattered, really, even though I cried myself to sleep in his arms.

Day 19

I woke with bright sun streaming onto my face and for the first time in days and days, another body in the bed with me. I was in too sad shape to appreciate this though. Despite Fox's precautions of the night before, the sunlight pounded on my eyelids like a hammer and some small furry animal had crawled into my mouth and died. I groaned. Fox was a genius. I swear it. He seemed to know what I needed the instant I woke up. Before I could even speak he helped me sit up against the head board of the antique bed we were crowded into. It was a double, too small really for two tall men. Then he pushed a glass of water into my hand and popped an ibuprofen right into my mouth, then prompted me to put the glass to my lips and drink.

"And that, buddyboy, is why I don't usually drink this much," I croaked when I was done with the water. If it had been anyone else in the world I was around when I'd broken down like I had last night, I would have been embarrassed beyond words. But it was Fox. There was no need for excuses. No need for any shame between us.

"I dunno," Fox said with a grin, as he got out of bed and got me another glass of water. "You're kind of cute when you're totally hammered. Slobbering all over me and trying to dance with me."

"I am not cute," I tried to growl, but it came out as kind of dull grumble. Someone was still tap dancing in my cranium though the sunlight had started to be a little more bearable. Overall, this hangover wasn't anywhere near as bad as I probably deserved.

"Sure you are...pumpkinbutt," he said. He kept more than arms reach away from me, as if he expected that I'd nail him with a pillow or something. I couldn't find it in me to do anything more drastic than to drink more water. He frowned and said, "Oh, guy, you must be really feeling it this morning."

"I'll be fine as soon as the zoo comes for all these elephants stomping around in my skull."

He crawled back into the bed with me and wrapped his body around me. I surrendered to his embrace, leaning into his body. "Did you mean all that stuff about quitting your job?" he asked.

"Yes. No. I always think it after a trial. I just never say it," I told him. "I'll be back to normal by next week or so."

"You don't have to keep on working. You could retire. Walt's thinking of putting his place in the Marquesas up for sale."

No, whatever complaints I might have had, I liked my life the way it was. "In about three weeks, I'd be out looking for another job. Picking coconuts or whatever it is they do in the South Pacific. No thanks."

"Okay. I'm not serious. You ready to contemplate leaving the bed yet?" Fox asked. He kissed me then got out of bed. It was pretty, sure, and it was also nice to have an excuse to cuddle close with Fox, but the bed really was small compared to the king size we shared at home.

As I pondered this question, I looked at the hotel room around us. Definitely the kind of place you'd book for a romantic weekend. There were fancy sheets and a real comforter on the antique bed I was in, not the usual cheap hotel style bedspread. One of the windows had a big stained glass panel in it. Cream colored walls with white trim and white shutters on the windows. Fox had opened their slats earlier letting the sun in. I got a glance outside of a scenic, small Wisconsin town.

"You want a bath? You should see this tub," Fox said from the bathroom. Apparently, this was a rhetorical question because he started running the water. I wondered if I should trust him.

Forget about money. Forget about sex. Forget about dividing the chores up. The biggest breaking point between us was water temperature. The man likes to parboil himself, I swear. The relatively rare occasions we shower together, I get control of the faucet and I set it at compromise temperature, too hot for my comfort, too cold for his. We never took baths together, only partially because the standard size tub in our bathroom was too small to even contemplate pretzeling two six foot tall guys into. Fox liked an occasional soak, but strictly by himself and in water more suitable for turning live lobsters into dinner than relaxation if you asked me.

I dragged myself out of bed. The ibuprofen was starting to work its magic and I felt marginally human again. I was dressed only in my boxers. Fox must have more fully undressed me last night after I'd fallen asleep. "If you were thinking of romancing me, you shoulda taken advantage of me last night," I said as I walked to the bathroom. "When I was pliable. This morning I'm just feeling old and cranky."

"It'll pass," he said, and adjusted the water taps again. Fox was right though. It was quite a tub. Sunken into the bathroom floor and surrounded by marble, it was easily big enough for two tall men to stretch out in it side by side. The bathroom itself was a little too frilly, with too many lacy accessories of the kind that make me feel like my mother's been there. But the tub was nice. Maybe I could stand to soak a little while with Fox at a compromise temperature. Maybe the jets would feel good on my achy, hungover body.

"Sorry about the Barbie doll sized bed," he apologized. "I tried to get the king suite but it was booked already. So were all of the queen suites for that matter."

"Fox," I began. "This room. The ticket out here on such short notice. It's too extravagant. Must have cost you a bundle. You didn't need to do this. I would have been home yesterday night."

"What's the point of having the money if I don't get to spend it on you sometimes?" Fox asked. He stood up from the tub and put both his hands on my shoulders. "On the phone on Thursday night, it really sounded like you needed some time with just you and me. No kids. No Walter or Scully or Jilly. So far it hasn't cost much more than that suite at the Willard and I didn't hear you complain too much about that. We can easily afford this. Relax."

He smiled at me, total picture of charm. You try saying no to a man like that. To up the ante, he kissed me. Not on my lips. On my neck. Wrapped his arms around me. Ground his hips against mine so I could feel without a doubt that he was half hard.

"Aren't you wearing too many clothes for a bath?" I asked. Fox was dressed in t-shirt, shorts and socks. White athletic socks. Very cute. Made me want to strip them off him.

"So are you."

"But you're wearing a full 75% more clothes than I am."

"Socks only count as one item because they're a pair."

We'd had this teasing discussion time after time. It was as old and comfortable as that holey black t-shirt Fox was wearing. One of the holes was positioned at the moment directly over a nipple and it poked out, pink and erect. Very sexy in a strange kind of way. I didn't have long to appreciate this though, because he pulled the shirt off over his head and dropped it on the floor. I decided I was going to take the effort to go to whatever place Fox was trying to get me to go here. I hooked my thumbs around the waistband of my shorts and pulled them off. I knelt down to test the water and I felt a questing hand rest on my ass, then slip slowly into my crack. I said, "Hey, no molesting the goods until after I've had this bath you promised me."

"Grouchy, ain't ya?" he said, then his hands retreated. As he finished undressing, I put a hand into the water. Perfect. Just warm enough without being so hot it was going to make me sleepy or uncomfortable. I looked in surprise at Fox. He said, "Hey, I know you, guy. Speaking of which. Hang on."

He left the bathroom. I shrugged and climbed into the tub, waiting for it to fill completely. It was so huge it was taking forever. It was nice. It really was. I had a few thoughts about seeing if we could wedge something like this into the bathroom somehow. Maybe not so big. But definitely not until the kids were gone from the house for good. If the water bill was bad now, it'd be outrageous with one of these and an adolescent in the house. Fox came back into the room, bearing a bag from a chain drug store. He dug out condoms and lube and tossed them where they'd be in easy reach from inside the tub. Then, he pulled out a bigger box.

"You ready for a little breakfast, tough guy? I was waiting until I was sure your stomach wasn't unsettled," he said. Then he tossed a familiar package at me. Of course. There wasn't a toaster nearby but hey, any poptart is a good poptart. Except those green ones Charlie liked. I opened the package and took out the little rectangle of pastry. I offered him the other one but he shook his head. "Want coffee?"

"Sure," I said. Fox was back in a minute with two mugs and a thermos. He poured for us and put mugs in easy reach of the tub. Then he skinned off the last of his clothes and joined me in the tub. "You spoil me, lover."

"Not often enough," he said, playing a languorous game of footsie with the ball of his foot, just a teasing, light touch, a hint of what was to come later. For now though, I nibbled on a poptart, sipped good, hot, black coffee and soaked at the perfect temperature. Shit, Fox definitely had me beat in the romance department. What was a little vase of sunflowers compared to this?

A while later, pop tart finished and coffee forgotten, we had moved on to kissing. He stretched out his body on top of mine and took possession of my mouth, delicately parting my lips with his tongue. Then, ever so gently, he licked off some water that had accumulated on my upper lip. When it was clean, he bit it softly, just like he'd talked about during phone sex. Somehow, this was even more unbearably erotic than it ever had been before, charged with more power to make me melt since he had put words to that desire. I moaned and he did it some more.

"Hey, sit up on the edge," he said after a while. Took a little while for my sex stupid brain to process this request. When I did finally work out what he wanted, I asked why, not wanting to leave the bubbling, perfect water of the whirlpool tub. He grinned and said, "I don't think either of us would want me to drown. Go on, getcher ass up there."

I sat on the edge, waiting for him to take my cock in his mouth. "Turn around. Wrong side," he said, sliding his hands under my ass, fingers seeking my crack. He found it just as I started to roll over. He spread my cheeks slightly, then leaned over. The warm wetness of his tongue on me was the only thing I could pay attention to for a long time. The cold ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor were no distraction, nor was the lip of the tub against my gut. Yeah, nothing could make me melt like a good rimming. The only sounds I was making were groans and whimpers, too blissed out to form words even. I was just a man-shaped pile of jelly under his tongue and his hand was reaching around me, sliding up and down my erection. I hardly noticed it when his tongue was replace first by one finger, then two and three. Then he was sinking into me in one long, smooth motion. I gasped and bucked up to meet him. He kissed and sucked on my neck and shoulders as he fucked me. He was hard, harder than usual, and already thrusting intensely and in no more a state to talk than I was.

This man knew me. Nothing was a secret between us. There was only trust and love. He knew my every sensitive nerve center. Knew my needs and vulnerabilities. And even when he was so sex stupid he couldn't even talk, he kept them in his mind, exploiting them for both our benefits. Finally, I cried out, feeling myself shuddering under him. A few minutes of thrusting more and he gave a strangled cry to match mine. His whole body shook for a moment before he collapsed onto my back. We both stayed that way a while to catch our breath before either of us could move. It was good. So good. Nobody tells you this. That the old and familiar can have a pull and attraction even more compelling than the new. That to freefall in ecstasy like this is only truly possible in the arms of someone that you trust like I trust this man.

I wanted this moment to last forever. Me holding our weight up on my back. Him draped bonelessly over me in perfect trust, growing limp but still inside me, letting me support him. Him nuzzling my neck idly. The whirlpool still bubbling like a cauldron around our legs. No golden moment can stay though. Eventually he had to pull himself out of me and I felt empty when he did. He took off the condom and tossed it in the trash then we slid back into the water, cuddling now, kissing and nuzzling each other. Fox wiped some water off his face with the heel of his hand, at least I think it was just water. "Thanks, guy," he said. "You have no idea how much it means to me."

"I think I do," I said. It was probably exactly what it meant to me. We held each other until the water grew cold and our fingers and toes were shriveled like prunes.

Finally we drained the tub and got out, drying each other like monkeys grooming. "Okay," he said as he rubbed my hair dry with one of the thick white towels, even as I wasn't sure why I was putting up with it. "Check out time isn't until noon. But we may as well get a move on. We're meeting your pal Jim up in Green Bay this afternoon to discuss plans."

I was shocked. Jim hadn't contacted me yet. How did Fox know?

I was pretty sure Fox didn't read minds, but he was so good at reading my expression by now that he didn't have to. "With the information you gave me, it wasn't difficult to piece together who your informant was. I gave him a call on Friday morning and demanded he take me along on this little field trip you're planning."

"No. Fox. No. You can't do this," I said. The thought that Fox would possibly be in danger was unbearable to me.

"You know, I said the same thing to you and you didn't listen. Why should I listen to you now?"

"Because it's the smart thing to do."

"I decided if I was going to have to put up with the possibility of losing you then you're just going to have to put up with the possibility of losing me."

I couldn't really argue with him on this. We were partners. In life. In bed. In raising his children. In love. Equal partners.

"Okay," I said. "But if you get yourself killed, I'm kicking your ass. Am I clear?"

"Crystal. Let's get packed."

A short while later, we were driving away from the small Wisconsin town in the golden light of a perfect June morning. The sky was almost blue up here, not the faded to near gray of the pollution filled sky I was used to in the bit city. Little wisps of pure white clouds trailed here and there. Fox fiddled with the radio until he found a classic rock station. Hard to believe they still played Zepplin on the radio, but I guess there's probably a big niche market for it. Guys my and Fox's age wanting to remember was it was to feel young and stupid again. The rental car was some efficient little plastic can. I would have felt more comfortable driving off to our possible doom in my truck.

As we passed Manitowoc, I asked, "You think driving this thing to a raid of a secret DOD facility that isn't even supposed to exist is a violation of your rental agreement?"

Fox gave me a grin that let me know that, silver hair and a little extra weight and a few years behind him aside, this was, afterall, Fox Mulder sitting here beside me. It wasn't quite a mischievious grin, but had an element of that. It was definitely full of the devil may care bravado that was part of why I'd been attracted to him in the first place. And a wicked determination to know the truth and protect those that were his. You could forget about this side of Fox these days. It was sleeping, dormant. I loved the charming, sweet, loving, witty, sometimes preoccupied man I lived with. But this was the Fox of old beside me now. A dangerous man and a worthy comrade in arms. My hair stood up on end and I remembered just how many bucars and rentals he'd trashed in the pursuit of the truth during his years with the Bureau. Once upon a time ago, chaos generated around him. I loved Martin David Fox. But Fox Mulder excited me. It was a good job they were the same man, or I'd be in real trouble.

"I can't see how it would be that much more dangerous than driving in Chicago traffic," he said, with a certain look in his eye. Suddenly, my hair wasn't the only thing standing on end.

"Hey, look in my duffle. I brought something for you."

I reached around in the back seat and found his bag. I dug through it and pulled out a thin, stainless steel cylinder. Hell. One of the switchblade icepicks. Mine, I could tell, from some scratches on the bottom.

"How the hell did you get this through airport security?" I asked as I turned its familiar weight over and over in my hands. Been years since I'd done more than clean and oil it.

"Don't ask. Jim didn't think it'd be the bounty hunters, but better safe than sorry. And I figured you'd want an old friend in your hands. I didn't think I could manage to get your Smith and Wesson through."

"Thanks, buddyboy," I said, slipping it into my jacket pocket. It did mean a lot, even if I wasn't planning on using it. I hadn't even wanted him to try and get the damn gun through airport security. Fox's new identity was pretty safe, but I didn't want him to do anything that might stupidly risk getting him in trouble with the law and lead to his arrest. His new identity was pretty airtight, but I didn't want to take chances. After the Homeland security act of 2007, no weapons of any kind went on aircraft, except the ones carried by the Air Marshalls. It was pretty amazing the Fox had gotten the icepick through and I wasn't going to ask how.

We talked about everything and nothing on our way up to Green Bay, the kinds of things you only talked about with your husband. Not that they were necessarily secret or intimate. Just that who else really cared about whether you should schedule a vet appointment for the cat or if the refrigerator might last another couple of years or should you replace it? The Wisconsin scenery flew past. Lots of trees. Lots of farmland, dairy farms with black and white cows dotting the fields. The occasional glimmer of blue as the highway took us close to Lake Michigan. The occasional brush with a town that the interstate took us past. A whole lot of not much. Then we were approaching what passed for a big town up here. The houses were charming in their own way, bungalows mostly, some big Victorians, stretched along quiet tree lined streets. We saw a fair number of kids whizzing past on bicycles and moms with strollers, all the markers of typical mid-America. I'd say dollars to doughnuts that none of these people ever had any clue in how much danger their lives had been once. Might be again. Whatever this Peshtigo project was, it wasn't good. The aliens might be gone, but vestiges of their technology remained. And humans evil enough to exploit it to their own ends had always been with us.

We pulled into a family style restaurant as Fox said, "This the address. But we've got half an hour before our appointment. Want to take a walk?"

Fox parked the car and we walked down those shady streets, not hand in hand, but close, shoulders sometimes brushing. You'd probably have to be a dummy to look at us and not know we were together. We passed several blocks of small, comfortably shabby houses occasionally diverting to the grass to make way for kids barreling by on bikes, rollerblades and scooters. The air was fresh up here. The day was far cooler than it would be back home. For a little while I could begin to see what Jilly saw in Wisconsin. We came across a city park and stood a little while looking at the kids clambering over the play equipment like little monkeys, with requisite screeching and yelling. They were having a grand time that was only occasionally squelched by nearby moms. Some of the moms looked suspiciously at us from time to time.

"You miss it ever, John?" Fox asked. "I think in some ways, we're both really glad that they'll be grown and out of the house soon enough. Billy off to college this fall. Charlie won't be long behind him. But you know, I miss having a kid around. Ours weren't around often enough. I'd love to have another."

"Yeah, I miss it," I said softly, thinking for some reason of my own son Luke, who was an eternal boy in my memory. There was always a little edge to those memories, but the good was what stuck out. And I had plenty of new memories of the other two boys in my life to add to that, to buoy my spirit. I didn't say anything about his wish for another kid. We'd talked about it before. More than once. It wasn't that I would be opposed but it came down to we were too old for it. Hell, I was too old for the kids we had now. "I miss having them as babies too. And as toddlers, getting into everything."

"No, I don't miss diapers and sleepless nights. It's strange. But having Charlie around makes me realize how much we miss out on when Scully has him full time. Makes me wish I could do it again."

"I know, buddyboy. I do. But we're too old to be thinking about this."

"One of the hazards of waiting to start your family until you're no longer the focus of a global conspiracy I guess," Fox said.

One of the playground moms decided to take matters into her own hands and find out if we were a threat to her offspring or not. I remembered the politics of the playground. I took no offense, because we were intruders here. Back when the kids were young, I would have done the same thing. She came right up to us, baby on one of her thick hips, looking back to see that her older child was all right before speaking to us. "You guys lost or something?" she asked. "You need directions somewhere?"

"Just wasting a little time before meeting someone," I said. "We were about to get on our way."

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked. My voice, southern drawl still coated with an overlay of brusque from my years in New York that hadn't entirely faded over the years would have been the big giveaway.

"DC," Fox said, with a smile. He grabbed my hand and I could see her relax a little. He was good with people. You had to give him that. There was no way I would have been able to read that woman well enough to know that seeing that we were gay and together would make her more at ease rather than less. "We're here on vacation. Driving up the lakeshore to Door County. Meeting an old friend of ours."

"All right then. I'll let you get back to your vacation. Have a good time," she said, and immediately retreated to a klatch of women who were obviously watching and waiting. We didn't wait to see if they broke out into a frenzy of discussion about us. Don't ever mess with mom and her kids.

Or dad and his kids for that matter. That was the only thing driving Fox and I here. I think that if Charlie weren't involved in this somehow, we'd have been just as content to let Jim and his people solve this Peshtigo thing on their own. We'd been letting other people mop up the last of the battle for years and not been concerned by it. But a fierce protectiveness burned in the both of us. Something in that building Charlie had broken into in Virginia had made him sick, I was sure of that. And the answer lay here in north Wisconsin if I were to believe a source I trusted.

As we headed back to the restaurant, I asked Fox, "Tell me. How bad off is Charlie really. Full unvarnished truth. Everything you weren't telling me over the phone because it would make me worry when I wasn't there to do a damn thing about it."

"I don't know for sure how sick he is really. Scully gets this look in her eyes when she takes his temperature. Presses her lips together you know. I get the feeling she's tempted to hospitalize him and would have, except for the obvious reasons. She's tried some pretty heavy antibiotics and some anti-virals without it having made a darn bit of difference."

"Shit."

"Precisely."

"Strangest thing. There's been poltergeist like activity in the house when he's sleeping. Nothing heavy. A few books flying around. A chair once."

I'd read enough of the X-files to know that displays of this kind of power were often associated with adolescents, often, but not always girls, with psychic ability. Not that I would really believe any of that shit until I'd actually witnessed it with my own eyes. "You think Charlie might be catching up with his brother? So to speak." I asked.

The strangest thing about Charlie was just how strange he wasn't. Billy could move things with his mind. He desperately wanted not to be able to do this. I'd seen Billy absentmindedly make a glass of water float to him, realize what he was doing, then walk over, set it down where it'd come from, walk back to where he'd been. Then walk over to the glass and pick it up in his hand. Charlie was just a normal, somewhat overactive, overbright, overcurious boy. He seemed to me that he was exactly what you'd expect if you blended Fox and Scully together. I could see Fox behaving just like Charlie as a boy. But other than the fact that he'd never before been sick, he was unrelentingly normal. The mobile hadn't turned itself around over his crib. No replicants had hounded us at his birth. No mysterious strangers had tried to interfere with Scully's pregnancy. Other than the fact that she swears she hadn't had sex of any kind, much less intercourse to completion with any man, much less Fox, for six months before she got pregnant, Charlie would appear to be an utterly normal child.

"If he is, he's not doing it consciously at all," Fox said. Then we were at the door to the restaurant. He pulled it open for me and I stepped inside. It was just a typical family style place, pale decor, booths, a glass case up front with desserts in it. You'd have seen this kind of place anywhere except for the walls were crowded with Green Bay Packer memorabilia. Under his breath, Fox muttered, "People here are crazy. The Packers haven't had a decent team since Favre retired."

"Hey, I'd watch what you say. Someone might hear and that's the hometown team you're talking about." I said as I scanned the mostly empty restaurant. The lunch crowd would have cleared out long ago and it wasn't quite late enough yet to catch the senior crowd headed out for an early dinner. Sure enough, it was easy to catch sight of Jim Simpson. His idea of fitting in with the locals was to don a Green Bay Packer's t-shirt with his shorts. He was sitting in a booth in the corner of the place with a good view of the door and nodded at us as we came in. The hostess approached us, but we waved her off, telling her we were meeting someone. So we joined Jim at the booth. Fox slid into the seat opposite Jim's without hesitation, but the old paranoia was coming back to me and I hated the thought of sitting with my back to the door.

"It's okay, John," Jim told me. "As far as my sources know, no one is watching you. No one even knows you're in Wisconsin still."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Well, you weren't going to use it, so Martin passed on your return ticket to me and someone I know who needs to get into DC unnoticed used it."

I wasn't going to ask how they'd made the transfer. Nobody travels by air these days without some pretty rock solid id that exactly matches the name on the ticket. Some big computer system tracks people's air travel and double checks for anything funny. Nevermind. I was out of the organization. I didn't want to know. After we ordered and were served, between bites of a BLT, I finally asked. "Do you have a plan, Jim?"

"We're going in tonight. Hotel room," he passed over a key card and a flyer for the Comfort Inn in Green Bay. "The equipment and the information you'll need on our plan and rondezvous are there already. I'd suggest you leave right after lunch. It's still a pretty far haul to Peshtigo."

"Jim, this really is about Charlie, isn't it?" I asked. "Not some wild goose chase."

"This is definitely about your son. The more rumors I hear, the more I'm convinced. We found a place in Virginia. Not much left of course, but enough to be intriguing. A report on what we found is in your room. You had to wonder, didn't you? Billy was the prototype. Shouldn't Charlie be the more successful model? The supersoldiers are gone. Except..."

"No," Fox said flatly. "They're boys. Teenagers. They eat me out of house and home. They sulk. One of them is crazy about girls, the other, who knows. They argue about who gets the remote. They are normal human boys. Not supersoldiers."

"And anyone who tries to get them will have to go through the both of us first," I said.

Jim looked at the pair of us, nodded and said, "Good. That's the kind of attitude I'll need from you tonight. There's a file in your room. Read it."

Before long, Jim put a twenty on the table and slipped out of our booth. We finished lunch silently, without much appetite really. I was already nervous in anticipation of what we might find tonight, battle nerves, I recognized. We found the Comfort Inn without too much problem. As had been promised, waiting for us on the king size bed was a small pile of black clothes, military surplus type, in black. A couple of firearms that I was sure was registered to no one in particular, with the serial numbers filed off. I hefted one cautiously. No clip in it yet. Several clips were lying under the clothes. Fox was already looking at one of the files that were waiting for us, scanning it rapidly. At the sound of me sliding one of the clips into the semi-automatic, Fox looked up and gave me a grin, "Well, tough guy, why don't you slip on something black and sexy," he indicated the pile of clothes. "And as I once told some friends of mine, prepare to do some funky poaching."

We had more than hour before we had to leave for our rendezvous with Jim and company. Technically speaking, we wouldn't be going in tonight, but early the next morning, not long after midnight. Even so, we spent the time nervously preparing, reading through the files that we'd been left us. Trying to get a feel for the weight of the unfamiliar SIGs we'd been left. Adjusting holsters.

It was an odd kind of time, because on one hand, I was very turned on by Fox when he was like this, and every now and then, he'd do something that would just make my cock twitch. Some turn he'd make as he was pacing the room. Or some look he'd get as he looked up from a file. But there wouldn't have been a damn thing I could do about it. Even if my stomach wasn't tied up in knots, I could tell that Fox had slipped into a state of mind where sex was the furthest thing from his mind. Ironic that he'd be turning me on so much at a time where neither of us could do a damn thing about it.

Finally, it was time to go. "You drive," he said to me. "I want to keep reading this stuff."

"I'm not listed as a driver." Of course. You know know me. Even after all this time and mostly I do things by the books. It's my nature.

"I think we'll be in enough violation of my rental agreement that it'll be the least of our problems," he said.

So I drove. And drove. And drove. Who'd have thought that Wisconsin was such a big goddamn state? Fox read. Sometimes he read aloud from the files to me. Sometimes he just distilled the content from them and presented that to me in succinct chunks of information. The sunset and the sky finally faded from blue to purple to black. And we still drove. We stopped in one of the dozen or so of small towns we passed through, to have dinner and kill a few hours. I could hardly eat and promptly threw it up in the parking lot, my nerves going triple overtime. Fox didn't say anything, but found something for me to wipe my mouth with and a bottle of water for me to rinse. I wasn't usually this nervous, but this wasn't unheard of from me either. I was much calmer when I was done, I thought.

Then we were back on the road, Fox at the wheel this time. Fox seemed imperturbable. You'd think he'd be a hell of a lot more wrought about this whole thing than I was, because he was the more excitable of the two of us, but he had a will of iron I'd discovered. Sometimes I thought that I'd learned my courage, from the Marines, from police work, from life. But Fox, his courage was innate. He had a core to him that just couldn't be shaken.

"What's your feeling about this?" I asked Fox as we drove through the quiet, almost deserted streets of Peshtigo itself. Probably all the good, God-fearing Wisconsinites were in bed at this hours. Then we headed out west to where the laboratory was. I was feeling a bit like a Christian Scientist with appendicitis myself.

"I've got a good feeling," he said. "And I'm not getting any warnings from our mostly absent friends. It seems like we'll really find something here. Something important. Even if it has nothing to do with Charlie, it can't possibly be good. These people need to be brought down."

Once, when Fox started these kind of break ins, they had just been information gathering trips. but as the struggle went on, they became full blown raids. Little battles in the war for humanity's freedom. It meant destroying property, equipment, even lives. It was war. That meant death. No way around that. At one point, I had become a warrior again. I'd since retired, but it looked I was back at it again, just temporarily. I was glad Fox was driving, because my battle nerves were singing a high c and I felt more strung out than I'd felt in a long, long time. If we hadn't been in the car, I would have been pacing.

Finally, near midnight,we pulled onto the county road where we were going to make the rendezvous with Jim and his people. We pulled off at the turn off the directions indicated. Fox parked the car off in the verge of the road and turned it off. We walked on foot about five miles into a little stand of trees, pines like had made the area the lumber supplier to the nation once, but not old growth, just stubby new. Someone stepped out of the darkness, just a silhouette in the dark. Jim Simpson. When he identified us, he spoke into a small walkie talkie and slowly people began appearing, filtering out of the shadows.

"Ready?" he asked us.

"As we'll ever be," Fox answered for us.

"You read the plan. You know the score. We managed to plant a mole inside last week. You two are going in through the fence with Jenkins and Hanley here."

Two solemn faced young people stepped out from the shadows. One a young man who looked like he could have been a Navy Seal, tough, young and strong, complete with a shaved head, and a young woman who looked sweet and pretty, despite her black fatigues and the fact she was carrying a heavy duty machine gun of a type not familiar to me. Until she opened her mouth.

"Hanley," she said, shaking our hands. Her voice was rough, like you get from smoking multiple packs a day for decades, only worse. Very strange coming from a girl who looked not much older than Luna, our intern at work.

"Jenkins," said the young man after looking to Hanley to see if she was done talking. I got the feeling that she was the leader here.

"Doggett," I said, as my hand was shook.

"Fox."

"You're him, aren't you, sir?" Jenkins said as I shook his hands. He was really young. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than Billy. If the kid was able to legally buy alcohol or cigarettes, I'd be really surprised. It was me he was talking to, not Fox. "I've heard all about the raids you led out west. During the struggle."

"Just doing what I had to do. And it's not sir," I said gruffly. I did not want to be the object of hero worship. Not from a kid that should probably be in bed right now, not on a midnight raid. I tried to remember that when I was his age, someone had stuck a gun in my hand and called me a Marine. And that I'd been sure I was a man. Of course I knew now that I wasn't a man until my son had been born.

"Sorry about the voice," Hanley apologized. "Got a breath of some kind of chemical agent in Chiapas and it hasn't been the same since."

That would have been about five years ago. A "police action" where the US was supposed to help Mexico finally crush its Zapatista rebels, and thus get control over the oil fields there. Only we made a big hash of it, like we had of several other "police actions" starting with 'Nam. At least we withdrew relatively promptly this time. I gave her as much as I could of an appraising look in the dark. From the sound of it, she might have had actual combat experience.

"I'm usually squad leader," she continued. "But with your reputation and experience, the both of you actually, I'm willing to give that up to either of you."

Once both Fox and I had been in the place where Jim was right now, the guy planning and leading the whole thing. I sure was glad that wasn't me right now. "No thanks," Fox said. "You keep it. I can follow an order. I don't know about this jarhead here though."

Lucky I loved him or I'd have smacked him upside the head. This jarhead was following orders when he was still in high school. "He's right. You keep your place."

She passed out one of the little walkie-talkies to each of us and inquired if either of us would like some heavier weaponry. Neither of us did. "Okay, be careful though," she said. "We've got some heavy duty encryption going on the walkie-talkies, so we won't have to keep radio silence, but just in case, keep chatter to a minimum. You know what to do, so let's do it."

The other dozen or so people going on this raid had dispersed, melting back into the shadows from which they came, as silent as Fox's dead people. In silence, the four of us now crept through the forest, shuffling through the layer of fallen pine needles. I remembered this, the churning kind of calm that descended as we prepared to go in, my outside like glass, my inside like a boiling kettle. No sign of any perimeter guard this far.

About two miles into our little stroll, we came across a tall chainlink fence, with lots of warnings posted that this was private property, that the fence was electrified, that trespassing was forbidden, and so forth. Jenkins dropped a heavy pack he'd been carrying and pulled out some equipment. He got to work on the fence. I couldn't really see what he was doing in the dark. Bypassing the electricity somehow, which was probably also an alarm that went off the instant it was interrupted. I watched the sky as he worked. It was intensely dark out here. Back in the city, you could hardly see any stars from the light pollution. But here they glittered like diamonds on a pure black sky. A waxing moon hung in the sky tonight, shedding just enough light for Jenkins to work his magic. My estimation of the boy increased significantly when he was suddenly cutting a hole in the fence for us, just big enough to crawl through. First he, then Hanley went through.

"After you...pumpkinbutt," Fox said. Neither of us had spoken a word since the rendezvous.

I dropped to my stomach on the soft fallen pine needles. "Up yours, sweetums," I said as I crawled through the gap in the fence, feeling entirely too old to spend my Saturday night getting pine needles down my pants.

"That a promise for later, pumpkinbutt?" Fox whispered, as he followed me.

"Oh, yeah," I said, getting to my feet and getting out of his way. I thought of how just plain horny these raids used to make us. We'd get back to the place we were calling home temporarily, and if neither of us was injured, we'd tear each others clothes off and just go at it hammer and tongs where ever we ended up. Usually we didn't make it much beyond the door, much less to the bed. Something about defying death, perhaps. An affirmation of life. Someplace for the aggressive energy not expended to go. Yeah, I'd say doughnuts to dollars that Fox's ass would be mine, once we'd made it back to the hotel in Green Bay.

Day 20

Before long, the first of the several buildings that made up the compound was visible. It was a darkened rectangle, about the size of a three car garage. According to the file, the information they'd gathered indicated it was just an outbuilding used for storage. We'd hit it on the way back more thoroughly, though for now, we were going to give it a quick run-through. Jenkins had the alarm disabled in a quick minute and we were in.

Their recon had been right. It was one open space, filled with an assortment of crates, racks with smaller boxes and the occasional irregular shaped large object, covered with canvas. It was dusty with an air of neglect and of things forgotten. I had to cover my mouth to stifle a cough. At Hanley's command, we split up to cover the space, mostly just poking around to make sure the building was deserted. It didn't take long for me to conclude that my quadrant was empty other than some interesting looking equipment that we'd have to swing back later and destroy.

"Okay, this one can wait. We're heading to building twelve," Hanley said after each of had reported in that our section was empty. We followed her out the back door and out into the night again. In the pines between the outbuilding and building twelve, I heard the first sounds of gunfire, just a couple of pops that sort of sounded like fireworks in the distance, then more and more intense. Then we met our first sign of habitation, a pair of uniformed guards on patrol. I'm not sure from whose army they were from, but they had matching fatigues and what were definitely insignia patches. They raised their weapons as soon as they caught sight of us, but we were quicker. Hanley sprayed them with her machine gun and they fell back, blood spraying from their bodies in a big gush. Fuck. I felt queasy. I'd forgotten how much blood a person has in them. I hated this. Felt it was my responsibility to protect me and mine, but I hated it.

I didn't have long to be queasy. More soldiers stepped out of the woods and were mowed down by us. I fired my borrowed SIG several times. I know I made some good clean hits. Shit. There are times when I'm doing this that I feel like one of the bad guys. The soldiers I was shooting at were just kids. Probably they had moms and dads back at home. And how could I send these kids to their deaths and their parents into the kind of grief that I knew all too well?

At least I always felt like that until I made my way into the labs of these places.

We broke free of the firefight a little bit later, leaving six dead or dying young men on the ground in among the pines. All of us took a minute, under the guise of catching our breath, to stare back at the destruction we'd caused. I had to turn my head away in only a few seconds, but Fox stared longer, mouth gaping. I think maybe he forgets what he is capable of sometimes. I have few illusions about myself. I dragged Fox away from the sight eventually. Yeah, I'd say there'd be nightmares all around for a while.

Building twelve had a pair of guards at the entrance but Jenkins and Hanley took them out before Fox and I got there. We scattered through the empty halls of the place looking for information, files. We ripped hard drives out of computers, grabbed discs. According to the information we'd gotten, building twelve was adminstrative offices. And that was mostly what I'd found. The place looked like it could be cubicleville anywhere. Jim's people would go through the information later.

Then I found a hallway branching off the main branch. It was shut off by a fire door, and you needed a keycard to get through the door. My lock picking skills were fairly basic and definitely didn't cover a lock this sophisticated. "Hey, Jenkins?" I said into my walkie-talkie, "Can you come here a minute? I found a door. Maybe you can get through it."

A few minutes later, I was walking into the hall. It was a short, only six doors to it, three on each side, then it dead ended to an exterior door that looked pretty secure. The locks on the beige metal doors were standard key entry and I had the first one open in a minute. Jenkins had decided to start on another one. I let myself into the room. It looked something like a college dorm room or military dorm, only smaller. There was just enough room for the two sets of bunk beds and a small desk at the end of each set. The bunk beds were bare, black metal frames, the mattresses thin foam padding. The space between the bunks was hardly large enough for me. My shoulders brushed both sides as I went into the room. The mattresses were bare, no sheets, no pillows. But there were signs that the room had been inhabitated at some point. By young kids. They'd drawn with something on the cinderblock walls, crayon maybe, and it had been scrubbed at, but not fully eradicated. From the quality of the drawing, I'd have guessed five, maybe six. Shit. Someone had put four kindergartners into this prison cell every night to sleep alone and locked the door behind them. Then for whatever reason, the kids been taken away. Knowing these kinds of places, it couldn't be for anything good.

"Sir!" Jenkins called from the hall. "Mr. Doggett, you have to see this."

I turned on my heel and left the room, knowing that whatever it was I was going to look at could only be worse than this sight. I followed Jenkin's voice to where he stood at the end of the hallway. He was in one of the doorways, looking in. I brushed past him. And I just stared at what I saw, dumbfounded.

My first, agonizing thought was "Luke!" The bastards had cloned my son somehow. Then as I looked closer, while I could see the resemblance for sure, I knew it wasn't Luke. I let out a breath cautiously. The kid was just waking up from sleep and he stared at us with big wide eyes. He wasn't going to scream though. He seemed definitely inclined, but he put his hand into his mouth and bit the knuckle of his thumb hard. I used to do that. It'd been a stepping stone from sucking my thumb, which I did until kindergarten and I'd gotten teased about it. Something or someone had this kid trained to keep quiet, no matter what was happening to him.

Fuck. Shit. It wasn't a coincidence that this kid resembled Luke a lot. Afterall, I was Luke's father. And you see, this kid. Well, looking at him was like looking at my third grade class picture come to life. We'd come across other clones before in labs like this. Little, innocent kids with no idea that they were anything different than other kids, only they'd been trapped all their lives in this world of pain, experimentation and detachment. I guess it wasn't inconceivable that one of those kids could be a clone of me. Or a son of mine.

You see, I don't talk about it, except maybe every couple of years and then only to Fox. But I was abducted like Fox was. I was gone for just a short while until they found me, and I don't remember a damn thing about it, unlike Fox who remembers it all. Fox even made me try hypnotic regression and I got nothing. I don't remember a thing, though I do get some real doozies of nightmares sometimes that I assume have something to do with what happened. It is possible that they could have taken anything from me. They took one of my balls. I didn't even know about it. They replaced it with a silicon implant of some kind and I didn't know until the other one got a suspicious lump and I went to the doctor. It could be worse. Scully had both her ovaries taken. Luckily, the lump turned out to be just a swollen vesicle or something like that. You can see why I don't talk about my experience.

We wouldn't know for sure if this was clone or son until we found the records. That was the one good thing about people like this. They kept good records. We'd find out eventually. But for now, I had to get the kid out of here. No way could I leave him in this cell for even another minute. The only other signs that it was inhabited, compared to the other cells, besides the kid, were sheets on the bed and a computer sitting on one of the desks. Nothing else. Not a thing the kid could call his own. Not a toy. Not a book. No sign of warmth or comfort.

The kid looked just like I had at that age. All angles and elbows. Skinny and tall. Ears that I'd only just barely grown into. They were like taxicab doors when I was a kid. Sharp angled face. Tow-headed like I'd been at that age. Like me, he'd probably start turning brunette at about eleven or twelve. Only differences I could see was that he was skinnier than I'd been and pretty pale, like he'd been kept inside all the time. Whereas I was berry brown from running around in the Georgia sun like the little hellion I was. As a kid, I was even blonder than he was, from the sun bleaching my hair.

"Hey Fox," I called out on my walkie-talkie. "There's something here you have to see."

"I'll be right there," Fox said. I gave him directions to the hallway, then signed off.

I turned to the kid. He was alone in his cell, no bunkmates even. I wonder what had happened to his bunkmates. "What's your name, kid?" I said, softly, not wanting to frighten him more. He was on the top bunk, so I sat down on the lower bunk of the other set.

He pulled his knuckle out of his mouth. I could see angry red teeth marks on it. But he obediently presented the hand to me so I could see a fucking serial number tattooed on his skin. For fuck's sake! I was so angry I could hardly see straight. What kind of people did that to a kid? A fucking serial number. I did notice that the number started with JJD.

"No, not your number," I said as patiently as I could. I didn't want the kid to have any inkling I was angry, for fear he'd think I was angry at him. "You've got a name, right?"

"Mary Ann calls me Jack sometimes," he said, cautiously, as if admitting this might get him punished.

"Who's Mary Ann?" I didn't ask this. Jenkins, just outside the doorway did.

"She's my teacher."

"Okay, Jack. Let's get you dressed. Do you have any clothes?" I asked. I didn't see any signs of a closet or dresser in the rooms. The kid was wearing a thin, short sleeve t-shirt and underpants. It might have been the summer, but here in Wisconsin, the night was kind of chilly. He'd freeze his skinny little hiney off outside.

"Mary Ann gets me dressed in the morning," he said. He put his knuckle back into his mouth again and bit down so hard he winced. But it seemed to give him courage. I winced in memory at the familiar gesture. I'd bitten myself a few times hard enough to draw blood and I wasn't sure he wasn't about to do that now. The kid took his hand out of his mouth and straightened his back. Then he spoke again, "Where are you taking me?"

Fox appeared behind my shoulder and God was he quick to take in the situation and make a decision. "We're getting you out of here, Jack," he said. "And taking you home. C'mon, hop on out of bed and let's blow this popsicle stand."

I think it said far more about what the kid had been through than about either Fox's or my appearance of being trustworthy that the kid did hop out of bed. He climbed down the bunkbed's ladder. He didn't offer his hand to either of us, but bit his knuckle again, then squared his shoulders and stood up straight. He didn't look back at the room but headed straight for the door. From his attitude, it was clear he thought we could have been taking him to the front line of a battle to die, but he was going to face it with whatever guts he could muster. My heart went out to the kid that instant, as if it hadn't from the first instant I saw him.

He was so much like me. Not just the way he looked, but the way he acted. But I imagine that he'd learned his courage from the very first days of his life, being in this horrific place with no one to protect him. My life at his age had been idyllic, with a fierce Mom and strong Dad to watch over me. I hadn't needed to learn courage until I grew up. What had happened to the kid that he would unquestioningly follow strangers? Without even asking who they were. Without seeming to believe that they were telling the truth about where they were taking him.

Jack followed Fox out to the hall, then out into the main hallway. I remained behind to search for a storage closet or something that might warmer clothes for him. The last door revealed a linen closet of sorts, with a couple of piles of the cheapest sort of kids' clothes of all kinds of sizes. Bargain store sweatshirts and jeans. Plain canvas sneakers. I grabbed just enough to get him out of this place, hoping I'd guessed the right size. It didn't matter much I suppose. We'd be stopping as soon as we could to get him some decent clothes. Even if he...he was like Emily, that one child of Scully's, and he died. I'd read that file. Heard about it.

"Sir," Jenkins said. It would probably be too much bother to cure him of the sir. "I've been in touch with Hanley. She's been in touch with Simpson. They've found one Mary Ann Catrona, a scientist with the project."

"Doesn't matter. She's not going to see him again."

"No, sir. She's dead. Shot by Johnson's team while they were penetrating building ten. We've found the file that matches Jack's, uh, number."

"Bring it with all the rest," I said impatiently. I didn't need a file to tell the truth that my eyes could see and my heart knew. Someone had once said that the heart has reasons of which reason knows nothing. And I was discovering a boy shaped hole in my heart that I had no clue was there, until this awkward looking little kid was sliding into it.

"Sir, there's more..."

"If you're going to tell me that there were more just like him that didn't make it, I'd just shut my mouth if I were you. You're not going to tell either me or my husband that. Understand?"

He nodded sharply. "Sir," he said, then followed me out to the main hallway. Hanley was there, standing next to Fox. She was carrying a big pack that looked a good bit heavier than when we went in. Fox was crouched next to Jack, who was standing arms wrapped around him. They were talking about something softly, but Jack hardly seemed any more at ease. I gave Fox the clothes.

"Okay, big guy, let's get this sweatshirt on you," Fox said as he handed Jack the blue shirt. Jack held it awkwardly, as if he didn't know what to do with it. After a moment, he started to try and put it on, but was mangling the job pretty quickly, not putting his hands in the right holes to start with. I wondered. Jack had said Mary Ann got him dressed in the morning. Did she do everything for him as part of some program of indoctrinated dependence? Fox watched the situation for a minute then took charge. "Easy there, big guy. Arms in the big hole here. Tag goes in the back like this. Now wriggle it down over your head."

And so with Fox's direction, Jack put his clothes on mostly by himself, for what appeared to be the first time. Fox didn't take the time to guide him through the complicated maneuvers of tying his shoes, just did it himself. "Hey, good job, big guy," Fox said, with a smile and a pat on the head for Jack. If we hadn't been in the middle of enemy territory on a base that still wasn't secure, I'd have let my heart just melt at the sight of Fox being such a good daddy. "We gotta get out of here now," Fox said. "Take my hand."

Fox offered his hand to the boy. Jack didn't take it. Well, according to my mom, I'd been a reticent kid, suspicious of strangers. How much more so was this boy?

"Who are you?" Jack finally asked.

"The way I figure it is John there is your new Dad," Fox said, indicating me with a thumb. "And I'm your Otherdad."

"Other dad?"

"Yeah. We live together in a big house far away from here. You're going to come live with us. You've got two new brothers named Charlie and Billy and an uncle named Walt."

"I do?"

"You do," Fox said. "C'mon. We've got to get going."

This time, when he held out his hand for our little boy, Jack took it and we went out into the crisp night together. Jenkins and Hanley were talking back and forth with people on their walkie-talkies, taking point on either side of us as we walked through the compound. Jack was in the middle between Fox and I. Jack was looking around in silent wonder, scared. His free hand had found its way back to his mouth again. I wonder, how long it would take for him to quit. I hadn't stopped until nearly junior high. I, we, could give him the safety to be able to stop eventually.

I heard a noise behind us, probably before anyone else did. I was reacting before I even had a conscious understanding of what was going on. Drawing my SIG even as I was throwing myself at Fox and Jack, I yelled, "Fox! Down!"

Gunfire exploded in the dark all around us, some of it from my gun, some of it from others. I felt pain slicing through me, my arm, making me feel weak, even as I smelled gunpowder and blood. Shit. I'd been hit. I didn't know how seriously. All you can think of at times like that is just how badly it hurts. I could breathe still. It couldn't be that bad. Someone was kneeling beside me after the gun fight ended. Fox.

"Get Jack someplace safe," I told Fox through clenched teeth. "Don't worry about me."

There was noise and confusion and someone else besides Fox was helping me to my feet, then half dragging me across the compound. Suddenly, I was inside a building again. I was dropped into a chair and the room lights were switched on, half-blinding me. Fox and Jack were nowhere in sight, thank God. Jenkins was with me. He'd been the one to chivvy me along into the building. Hanley was there too. She grabbed a knife out of her belt and cut away my sleeve. "That must hurt like a sonuvabitch," she said in her gravelly voice as she blotted away blood with gauze that had appeared from somewhere. "It's not so bad though. Doesn't look like you have the bullet in you still. Small caliber and I'm seeing an entrance wound and an exit wound. I'd say you're a lucky man. Another couple of inches to the left it would have been a sucking chest wound we're dealing with."

Then she put heavy pressure on it with a big gauze pad and she made me lift my arm over my head. Standard first aid procedure to stop bleeding. But as she said, it hurt like a sunuvabitch. I think I bellowed in pain as she forced my arm up.

"Fox and Jack are safe?" I asked weakly, when I could.

She talked into her walkie-talkie for a bit, then said, "Just in the next room over. I'll take you to them as soon as we get this bleeding under control. It's not much worse than a graze, really. I'd like to see you go to an emergency room and a real doctor, but since it's not hunting season, I doubt we can explain it away as an accident easily."

"Uh, sis, he's your boyfriend and I'm your dumbass brother who was fooling around and didn't think it was really loaded," Jenkins said. "But, no hard feelings right? It was just an accident, no need to call the police."

"Okay," she said, pressing her lips together as she continued to hold my arm in what felt like a vise. "I think it might be worth risking it. Emergency rooms see everything. Even small rural places like this. Just act stupid. You do as much of the talking as you can, John. I'll see if we can arrange this. Hold him, Jenkins."

I was feeling shocky, like I might faint. But if Hanley's hands on my arm had been like a vise, Jenkins' were like a hydraulic press. The renewed pain brought my focus back. The room we were in was a lab. Looked kind of familiar. Like a lot of autopsy rooms I'd been in actually. I tried not to think about that. I knew what happened in installations like this.

Hours seemed to pass and finally Hanley came back. "Okay, it's all over but the shouting. We've got a truck available to medevac you out to the nearest small town with a hospital."

They helped me to my feet and let me put my arm down. Jenkins kept the pressure on though, just to be on the safe side. They walked me through the building, one of them on either side of me. I was able to walk without support, but truth was I felt better with them there, just in case I fell down. Fox stopped us after we'd gone only a little while. Jack wasn't with him at the moment. He stood in front of me and touched my face gently. "You gonna be okay, tough guy?"

"Yeah. You know me, buddyboy. Can't keep a good man down," I said, but my voice sounded weaker and tighter than I expected. I was definitely feeling on the woozy side. I wondered how much blood I'd lost so far. Maybe it was just shock.

"I'll get Jack, we'll be right behind you," he said.

Then we continued our trip through the lab to the other side. At one point, we passed close by an open door and I was able to get a glance at what was inside of the room. "Fuck! Don't let him see that," someone called out and rushed ahead to shut the door. Too late. I'd seen it. Another boy laid out on the table in the autopsy bay. Or rather, the remains of a boy, spread out. Chest open. Abdomen open. The kind of thing Scully does. Usually, I was pretty calm in that kind of situation, never tossed my cookies at an autopsy, could handle corpses just fine. Right now though, my stomach lurched. Then my vision went black and the last thing I remember was my knees starting to buckle.

I'd have given a lot to know what happened between Jack and Fox during the time I was passed out, and then during the subsequent time after I came to in the emergency room and I finally got back to the hotel in Green Bay. They had a chance to start to bond that I missed. I'll have to remember not to do damn fool things like get myself shot in the future.

They'd sent Fox ahead with the kid to go get some rest, once it was clear that I was in no real danger. Yeah, no gun shot wound is a pleasant thing, but as far as such things go, I was lucky. It'd heal up pretty well before too long. I'd passed out from shock, but my companions had taken care of me well and I hadn't even needed a transfusion in the end. I walked out of the emergency room with my arm swathed in bandages. But I walked. The kind, out of place in a small Wisconsin town Indian doctor that patched me up shook her head at me as I left, upset that I wasn't willing to call the police on my "girlfriend's" brother, or that people who were as stupid as we were appearing to be to her were allowed to buy and own firearms.

By the time I had hit the street, it was dawn. The air never smelled sweeter, I thought. The bird song was a clamor up here, an exaltation. The pink tint of sunrise blushed across a perfectly clear day, then things got lighter and lighter. I was alive. I had a son. And no, my mood was not even mostly due to the drugs they'd given me. Actually, from an objective point of view, I felt crappy. My arm still hurt. I hadn't slept, unless you call a brief passing out "sleep". I was still wearing the ripped clothes of the night before. Never-the-less, I felt like a king.

Jim Simpson was waiting in the car for me, sitting the driver's seat. Jenkins opened the door for me and I slid into the passenger seat, then he took the back seat. Simpson had the decency to look dead tired for once, but I certainly was feeling worse, and Jenkins curled up and slept as soon we pulled out of the parking lot.

"You knew about Jack," I said. "You knew. That's why you wanted me on the team."

"I've had hints for a while, but I found proof in Virginia. I thought you deserved to know what those bastards were using your genotype for. He just looks like you, John. He is a supersoldier. Or will be once he hits adolescence."

"And Charlie? Did you find anything that will help him? Any word on what kind of sickness they infected him with in that building?" I asked.

"So, you're keeping the kid?" Simpson asked, avoiding my question for some reason. I didn't like the sound of it, but I answered his question anyway.

"Looks that way. You got other plans for him, you'll have to come through my cold, dead body. And Fox's I expect."

"Just wanted to make sure before I bothered to start on his new ID. You got a cousin or something we could use as a starting place for a cover story?"

"He's my son. His mother just died recently. You can fix that up, right?"

"You want it to get around you cheated on Martin?"

"No, no need. I don't need to sleep with a woman to knock her up, do I? Fox could have been there at the time helping me do the deed, so to speak. Make up a lesbian couple. Pals of ours. Wanted to have a kid and we helped them out. Jack's a turkey baster baby. The girlfriend moved on when he was still a baby. Not genetically related to the kid. His mom just passed away. I'm sure you can come up with the traffic accident or whatever that did it."

"Good plan. Okay. I'll get my people on it. "

"And Charlie? What about Charlie?"

"Good news or bad news first?"

"Bad," I decided. Better to get it over with.

"There isn't anything you can do about his current sickness."

Fuck.

Simpson continued right into his good news. "But it appears it's just a coincidence that he broke into that building the same time it happened. It would have happened just the same if he didn't. It's a natural part of the development, it seems, a major change. If it goes according to what they think, he'll be getting better every day. And stronger. Until he's indestructible."

I was silent for a long time, mulling this over. Was the kid really something part alien, if not non-terrestrial, then at least alien to normal humanity. I thought about my old friend Knowle Rohrer who I'd seen get crushed, and otherwise destroyed, then get up and walk away. Did I want that for my child? Did I have any choice in the matter?

I suppose I wanted what any father wanted for his kids. A chance for them to be happy. For them to make the right decisions with their life. To be good people. To know the kind of love that I knew with my spouse. I couldn't ask any more than that for them. I suppose that being some strange creature, and some might call Knowle Rohrer a monster, didn't necessarily stop this from happening. Did it?

We could teach them to love. We could teach them to make the right decisions. I've tried to teach them all along the importance of being a strong man and that the most important thing a strong man can be is gentle, that being gentle and caring is not weak. It would be okay. Everything would work out. I had to trust in that like I trusted in Fox to keep on loving me. It would have to be okay. I had done, and would continue to do my utmost for our kids. There was nothing more we could do. It would have to do. It would have to be okay.

The miles melted away as I stared out at the trees, the farms and the cows and contemplated what we'd done the night before. I hadn't really gotten what we'd come for, had I? An easy answer to our son's origins or to this mysterious illness of his. But we'd done some good, I thought. Shut down a clone lab and saved a few lives of innocent kids. And I'd found myself a treasure beyond compare. Not that it was going to be easy. I drifted to sleep, wondering what the future would bring me next.

Jim dropped me off at the hotel. I wearily found the door to our room. After the drive down from Peshtigo, it was nearly afternoon and though I'd slept part of the way down, I was still dead on my feet. I slid my card key through the door and it beeped at me. I opened it up and was greeted by the sweetest possible sight I could think of. Two of my best guys, asleep, both looking innocent and young. They were sprawled out one to a bed, on top of the covers, not under them.

Fox had already read my mind or something about getting the kid new clothes, because he was in chinos and a flannel shirt that was something like my favorite red and white shirt. Sitting by the bed that he was on was a new suitcase. Fox had gotten him a haircut too, not much shorter than it was, but just neatening up a chop job that had been indifferent at best. And somehow, they'd managed to get to the bookstore too. Jack was clutching a new paperback. I didn't look to see what it was. I was just a little surprised they'd taught him to read. I wondered momentarily what they'd had in mind for him, then I tried to push the thought out of my brain. That way lies madness.

Fox's laptop was sitting beside him, in sleep mode with black screen. He'd been working on something, maybe going over some of the files we'd taken from the lab. Fox was curled up on his right side, his left hand stretched to the side of the bed I normally sleep on. His hair was mussed, as if he'd been running his fingers through it. I closed down the screen and slid the computer out of the way. Some small noise I made, perhaps the sound of it slithering across the cheap poly-cotton fabric of the bedspread, woke Fox up. He smiled blearily at me and looked at me through eyes that were only half open. He said, "Whatimizzit?"

"Almost one in the afternoon. No need to hurry though. Simpson's arranged our flight back home for tomorrow morning."

"I was worried about you," Fox said as he opened his arms to me.

"No stitches. Antibiotics. Vicoden. Change dressings regularly. See my personal doctor as soon as I get home," I said as I dropped the small bag of prescriptions on the table by the bed. The hotel room was small and impersonal, just barely big enough for the two double beds that filled it, with the shades drawn against the sunlight and just one lamp turned on. It was heaven to me though, because Fox was here. I sat down on the edge of the bed and took off my boots, loosening the laces and then toeing them off. "Oh, and the doctor recommended I stop being such a damn idiot."

Fox sat up. "I'm afraid I'd have to agree with that. No more, John. We're never doing this again."

I couldn't disagree with that but I just stared at him so stupidly fatigued I could hardly move.

"I'm serious, John," Fox asserted again after while. "I could have lost you."

I wanted to throw myself into his arms and blather reassurances at him that I'd never do it again, that I'd never put myself at risk in any way. Well, throwing myself anywhere was out of the question at the minute. And I just wasn't the kind to blather, even I weren't too tired for it right now.

I cautiously laid myself down on the bed. I wanted to be asleep and I wanted to be in Fox's arms. I didn't care that I hadn't showered and that I was still wearing the grungy black fatigues with the arm cut off. Time to change later. It was a bit of a trick finding a position that didn't hurt my arm one way or another, but I finally wriggled back into Fox's arms. He wrapped himself around me protectively, the outside of the spoon. Taking care not to jostle my wounded arm, he slipped his arm around my stomach, pulling me in closer. When I was as comfortable as I was going to get, I asked, "So how was shopping with the little guy?"

"A nightmare. It wore both of us out," Fox said. He hugged me tighter for a minute and I knew it had been even rougher than he was saying. "I don't think he's ever been out of that compound before, much less to a mall. He's frightened of everything, but not a thing in the world will get him to admit it. I think I pushed us a little too hard. Look at his knuckle."

I hadn't noticed it before, but the hand that was clutching his new book was bandaged. The poor little guy must have drawn blood at some particularly terrifying thing. I must have made a little growl because Fox kissed the back of my head then rubbed my stomach softly. It was surprisingly comforting.

Then Fox sighed and said, "Do you have any idea how old we're going to be by the time he hits eighteen?"

"Same age as we'll be as if we never met him," I said. "You called home yet to let 'em know about Jack?"

"Not yet. I was too busy trying to get us settled here. Then I was going over the file that Jim's people gave me. You know, they really didn't name those kids. Just numbers. Have you thought of a middle name for him?"

"I was thinking maybe Mulder after an old friend of mine. What do you think?"

"Jack Mulder Doggett?" he didn't sound convinced, but I could also tell he was touched. He rubbed my stomach again. If I weren't in some residual pain from my arm, I might have purred like a cat. For a moment, I missed their little furry bodies. I kind of needed them in bed with us for the full effect. Fox talked again, after giving a big, jaw-cracking yawn. "We'll have get that tattoo lasered off before we can start him at school."

And so we drifted to sleep, talking of our boy's future. Our boys' futures.

I was woken a while later by the muted sounds of a nightmare. Neither mine, nor Fox's. It was Jack's. He was just moaning softly, his limbs kind of twitching. Yet it was obvious that somewhere inside, he was undergoing the darkest torments and he was frightened beyond his ability to cope. I sat up in bed, prepared to crawl into bed with him, wake him up if necessary. I could imagine what the nightmares would be. I wanted to erase them. Smooth them away as if they never existed.

Fox held me back though, didn't let me crawl out of the bed. "No," he said softly. "Watch."

As I did as Fox asked, Jack came partially out of it. He stopped twitching. Instead, the hand came up to his mouth. When he discovered a bandage over his preferred thumb, he just found a different knuckle to bite. Then he rocked himself to sleep. That's the only way I can describe it. He rocked himself from side to side. And eventually, he drifted back into deeper sleep and the rocking stopped. He was calm again, back in deep sleep.

"He's obviously taught himself some kind of self-comforting techniques. They work for him now. Don't force the attachment, John. It will happen eventually. But for now, he doesn't trust us enough to be chasers away of nightmares. With his experience, it's almost a given that there's going to be some kind of attachment disorder. It doesn't sound like he was either physically or sexually abused. Just ignored for his whole life except for the medical experiments. We'll sort it out though. But we'll need time."

It was hard. I needed to hold Jack. Instead, Fox held me and stroked me gently, comforting me. We didn't make love, but it was close. He kissed the back of my neck a lot and murmured at me. I don't remember a lot of what he said, but it soothed my soul. After a while, he got out of bed and got me my pills. After I swallowed them, he got back into the spoon and continued to press his body against mine, hands circling and coming to rest. I was reminded for some reason, of nothing so much as the night of our commitment ceremony. Perhaps that was it. We were forging another bond, another tie between us, and between the little guy sleeping in the next bed over. Soon would come the millions of little threads of everyday life that would tie us all together, but even now, this bond was strong, unbreakable.

We fell asleep again. When I woke, it was dark outside and the television was providing most of the light of the room. I was still in Fox's arms. I looked up at the screen, trying to see if it was something I would approve of. Jack was watching old, old reruns of that crocodile hunter guy with rapt attention. Or seeming rapt attention. As soon as we stirred, Jack called out in a worried voice, without turning his head away from the screen, as if afraid of what he might see, or not see. "Otherdad? Are you here?"

"I'm right here, Jack," Fox answered softly.

"Dad? Are you here yet?"

"I'm right here, Jack," I said, gladder than I could express, just to be saying those words to him. Glad that he had asked for me. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," he said. Then he watched some crazy Aussie nearly get bitten by a deadly viper. So did Fox and I. After a while, Jack got off his bed and crawled onto the foot of our bed. He curled up in a little ball on top of the covers, tentatively, as if he expected to be booted off. He didn't move any closer, but it was a step, wasn't it? A giant step for him. Yes, everything was going to be all right. Everything might not have been perfect in my world. My arm was still a massive knot of ache and I was hundreds of miles from home and my other sons and my cats. But, you know, it was more than good enough.

Day 21

I sometimes say that only stupid people get upset and yell about stupid things like the house being a wreck, especially when there are more important things on the agenda. But you know, I can be the biggest damn idiot sometimes.

And they'd trashed my house in the week that I was gone. I was hurting again and it wasn't time yet to take another pill. The flight had gone predictably terribly and we'd nearly missed our connection at O'Hare because Jack had bolted from us, then ended up hiding in the bathroom and we had to talk him out. And I was starving. The only food they give you on a flight that short is a little bag of pretzels. We'd been planning to pick something quick up at O'Hare, but instead we'd spent the time luring Jack out of the bathroom. Fox drove us home from Dulles in the Honda which he'd left in parking and the traffic was wretched. Even worse was trying to convince Jack of the necessity of keeping his seat belt on. By the time we made it to the back door, I was a volcano ready to happen.

I walked into the kitchen and took one look and just about lost it. If they'd done the dishes all week, I'd have been surprised. Seemed like every single one was used and on the counter. Gym shoes, a pair of rollerblades and other stray sports equipment cluttered the floor by the door. The table was covered with old junk mail, newspapers, takeout bags and books. On top of that mess was an open pizza box with a half eaten pizza in it. The pizza had been an extra-large deluxe with extra everything, in essence, a pizza with an extra pizza on top. Someone had baked cookies, leaving one cookie sheet sitting on top of the stove with a couple of cookies left on it. I threw my bag down and started to yell. I wasn't even thinking of Jack, who crept into a corner fearfully.

"Jesus fucking Christ. I'm not even gone a week and the place goes to hell in a handbasket."

Fox meanwhile had set his bag down. He approached the pizza cautiously, poking at it with a finger as if he could determine its age that way. He shrugged, then grabbed a piece. Then he cut me off. Pizza in one hand, he pointed at me with the other. "You, Mister, are going straight to bed. I'll get this chaos under control and call you when dinner is ready."

"Fox, don't. Just don't. The place is a fucking wreck and I am not in the mood for you to try and tell me what to do."

"Which is precisely why you're going to bed. In case you've forgotten, you were shot yesterday. Now, go on. Looks like Jack could use a nap too. Why don't you take him up and bed him down in my office? Maybe introduce him to his family first."

As Fox called to my attention that Jack was about on the verge of a meltdown again, I shut up. Mollified and maybe a bit embarrassed by my temper, I turned to the kid and said, "Hey, you wanna meet Charlie and Billy? After that, I think I know where we can find some Crocodile Hunter reruns for you. Whaddya say to that?"

I could hear the television going loudly in the other room, not a show, but a video game was going by the sound of it. I assumed that was the boys. Scully was at work, so was Walt, but Jilly had taken the day off and was spending it here. It hadn't taken too much convincing to get her to do it. You could hardly call it babysitting. More like having one of the guys over. Though nominally an adult, she shared many of the same tastes as teenage boys. I was guessing that the pizza was more her work than the boys, though no doubt they'd been willing accomplices.

Jack did the knuckle biting thing for a moment.

Fox said, "Don't worry, Jack. Your dad just sounds like a big grouch. It's all bark, no bite. He's a big softie."

"Am not," I protested, but without much vehemence. I think I might have even smiled at Fox. The man was enough to drive a sane person crazy, but what were you going to do?

"Sure you are...pumpkinbutt," Fox said, playfully. "Go on, I've got a lot of work to do."

Jack found it in him to step out of the corner. This was not going to be easy, was it? Someday, though, none of this would be strange and new to the kid, but for now, every interaction was a foreign country to him. A real zoo like this household was a lot to plunk a kid right down into. But the kid had moxy and a real backbone to him. He was going to be okay. He'd settle in fine, eventually. He took the hand I offered and I led him out to the source of video mayhem I was hearing.

Charlie and Jilly were slugging the hell out of each other, virtually speaking. In reality, they were both slouched on the couch next to each other. On the screen, they were playing one of those mortal combat style games. Jilly's avatar looked just like her, but dressed in a leather bikini and with about nine, ten more inches to her bust line measurement. Like I said, Jilly has a lot of tastes in common with a teenage boy. Charlie's avatar was a slight guy in white pajamas, though he still was holding his own against Jilly's Amazon pretty well. Billy was sprawled on the floor nearby, enraptured in the horror thriller that Charlie had bought that night at the grocery store. He was the only one to look up at our entrance. Both the boys and the other members of the household had been fully briefed last night on the phone about their new family member. Charlie had had a million questions, but Billy had taken everything in stride once he found out Jack's origin. They both knew that this wasn't going to be like taking an ordinary eight year old into the household.

"Hi," he said, shyly. Always soft spoken, I think Billy was just as awkward meeting Jack as the other way around. "Are you Jack?"

Jack nodded.

"I'm Billy, the twerp on the couch is Charlie. Charlie, say hi."

Billy might have been the reserved one, but there was never any doubt he was the big brother. He bossed Charlie around with a certain quiet authority. Once he'd given his command, he seemed to go back to his book, but I could tell he was watching, observing. It was always fascinating to see aspects of Fox being acted out by his sons and this unobtrusive observation seemed very much like Fox at the moment. Billy's eyes and Fox's eyes, taking the world in, coming to their conclusions, reading people like they read books.

Charlie just barely looked up from his game long enough to wave two fingers off the controller. Jilly used the opportunity to get in a vicious roundhouse kick, knocking white pajama guy on his ass. Then she said with a big smile, "Hi, sweetie, I'm your Auntie Jilly."

Then she ate a big spoonful of the cookie dough from the bowl that was sitting between her and Charlie. Not only were there chocolate chips in the dough, there were nuts, oatmeal probably, M&M's, chunks of white chocolate, and generally speaking, more add-ins than actual cookie dough. Charlie took a scoop as well. Guess he'd gotten his appetite back sometime over the weekend. I suppose if raw dough what it took, then just once I wasn't going to say anything. I watched Jilly scarf down another huge spoonful.

"What?" she asked at my stare.

"I've seen you in spandex. Where do you put it all?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," she said. "Hey, Jackie, you want some? It's Auntie Jilly's secret recipe. It's wicked good, I promise."

Jack looked to me for permission or something. I nodded then stepped away from him just slightly. He took the spoon Jilly was offering and tried a nibble of dough, breaking out into the first smile I'd seen on him. It was just a tentative effort that vanished quickly, but it was a start.

"You want to help me kick Jilly's ah...uh...butt?" Charlie offered. He held up the game controller to Jack. I was proud of the kid, both of them. This was going better than I'd thought it would. Everything was pretty good so far on all fronts.

As I expected, Jack was not up to the well-meant kindness. He retreated, backing up until he was brushing up against me. I decided that he'd had enough for the moment. "Nah," I said. "Me and Jack are going to go up and watch the Croc Hunter if that's okay with everyone."

"'She's a beauty!'," Charlie quoted, getting the accent dead on. He'd been a big fan years ago, growing out of it eventually. "Hey, otherdad, can I get a snake?"

"No, not in this lifetime," I said automatically. I wasn't having any reptiles in my house, thank you very much. They still gave me the creeps after that one X-file I handled years back.

I shepherded Jack upstairs and into Fox's office. We were sticking him there on the sofabed for a while. Walt had stepped up his apartment search and soon enough, we'd be able to turn my office into a bedroom. We'd been having a lot of discussions, Fox and I, about what we were going to do about getting me my own office again. I was seriously thinking, for the first time in a long time, about getting another house, something bigger. I'd hate to do it. I'd hate to lose all the memories of the house. The marks on the casing of the kitchen door, charting the boy's growth year by year. The boys' handprints in the concrete from when I'd poured a new path from the back door to the garage. The scuff marks on the bottoms of doors from gangly adolescent feet.

I pulled out the sofa bed and told the little guy he could hop on. While I got a blanket and a couple of pillows for him, I hoped that Walt had had time to hide all of the videos and other media materials that would be inappropriate for little eyes. We'd kept them in there as the most intrusion free room of the house, but hadn't planned on a third child to have to bed down. It was a bit of a job to do with only one good arm, but I got the kid settled in. I surfed the cable channels until I found the all dangerous animal station. They played the croc hunter three times a day at least.

When I went to leave, to head to my own bedroom for the nap that Fox had ordered, Jack piped up finally. "Watch with me," he said. He almost pleaded. I thought maybe he was asking more than anything not to be left alone.

"Sure, Jack. I'll watch," I said, settling cautiously into the easy chair beside the sofa bed. I used both arms more often than I'd thought I did, I was discovering. Including using it to balance myself as I sat down.

After a while, Jack pointed to the animal wrangler on screen and said, "Can I do that when I grow up?"

"Sure, Jack. You can do that," I said. Charlie had gone through a 'I want to be the Croc Hunter when I grow up' phase too. He'd grown out of it long ago and no doubt Jack would as well. Like I said. All I want for my boys is a chance to just plain grow up, like my other boy didn't. To be happy, to live a decent life and to love a good person the way I love Fox. If that also meant he wanted to grow up and make an ass of himself on television, I could accept that. "When you grow up, you can do anything and be anything you want. Sky's the limit, kid. Sky's the limit."

Epilogue (day 22)

I ended up arranging to take the whole week off work, just to get Jack settled in or at least do as much of that as I could while Fox hounded me to stay off my feet to convalesce from the damn gunshot wound.

Fox had, in deed, wrenched the house back from the edge of total chaos in one afternoon, but there was still laundry to do. I was feeling much better by the next afternoon, and my pain pills were working perfectly at the moment, so I started in on the extant piles waiting for me in the laundry room once I was finished haranguing Charlie and Billy to bring their stuff down. There were mountains of underwear and whole mountain ranges of towels. I was rapidly becoming convinced that between the two teenagers, they must take four showers day each. There were foothills of jeans and t-shirts. A substantial pile of Charlie's school uniforms. I worked rapidly as I could, limited by my inability to pick up things in both hands easily, but I soon had a load of towels going and had begun sorting colors into their own loads.

I had the phone propped between my shoulder and ear, talking as I worked one handed. I was on the line to Jeanine, who was human resources person at work. "I'm already working on getting Charlie onto full coverage, John," she was saying. "Was there anything else you needed?"

"Yeah. There's another child who will need to go under my coverage," I told her. "I have a son I've never mentioned before. It's kind of a complex situation. I was, you know, a sperm donor. Old friend of mine. She passed away recently and I've been given custody."

"John! You must be thrilled!" she chattered. I don't think I've ever heard her be so genuinely happy for me. A moment later, her tone was a little more guarded. "I mean, well, you must be hurting to lose a good friend. But you have to be thrilled to have gotten custody. I know how much you love your kids."

"More than I can say," I said. "I haven't been close to this friend in years. I was more friends with her ex-girlfriend in the first place."

"Oh, John! We'll throw a shower for you as soon as you get back to work. What does the little guy need? How old is he? You'll have to tell me everything."

"He's eight. Trust me, he's not going to lack for a thing in the world. And you are not to throw a shower for me."

One of the annoyances of working in a close knit office. Everyone was into each others personal business. I'd certainly been dragged into participating in every other baby and wedding shower, going away party, and back to college for the intern party they'd had. There was no way Jeanine was going to listen to me and no way I'd get out of participating in my own shower. I wrangled with her for another couple of minutes about the wisdom of this proposed shower and even though I didn't concede the point, I know I lost it. Finally, I hung up, knowing that by now, the news of my new son had already made the first rounds of the office. Some people probably already had their potluck dishes for the party planned.

I suddenly felt a presence behind me. Before I knew it, I was captured, arms wrapped around my waist and immobilized against the running washing machine.

Fox. Busted. I thought he'd been fully immersed in writing. He nuzzled the back of my neck and said, "I thought I told you'd I'd get to it tonight? You should be watching TV or something."

"You know me. Can't keep a good man down," I said as I relaxed into his embrace. He ground his hips into my ass and I discovered that saying applied to him as well. No keeping this one down, that was for sure. They say a hard man is good to find. I'd certainly testify to that.

"I was just thinking. The deadline to your little twenty one day plan passed while we were in the middle of all this. How'd we do?"

I counted silently to myself. "We are so behind. We missed six times if I counted correctly."

He tweaked my nipple through my t-shirt, his fingers finding it inerrantly. "We'll have to have makeup days," he promised. "We can't be missing our goal, can we?"

I liked the sound of that. The washing machine started its spin cycle. The vibration of the drum was very pleasant on my dick. Of course, the fact that Fox had started to nibble on the side of my neck exactly where it met my shoulder was a nice bonus. Very nice indeed. Except one thing.

"Kids are going to be coming down with laundry sometime soon," I warned as he tugged my shirt up. He didn't pull it all the way off, probably thinking he didn't want to bump my arm.

"When have they ever gotten laundry down on the same day you asked them to, much less within the same hour?" Fox said, and he did have a point there. His hands were starting to do his octopus man imitation and he thrust against my ass, pushing me harder against the machine. He was definitely taking a take no prisoners kind of approach here. Hardly giving a guy a chance.

Ten minutes later, we were still engaged in this torturous foreplay and I was all but purring at him. He had his hands under my shirt, but otherwise, we were both fully clothed. Despite that, my cock was straining against my jeans, and so was his. We were so caught up in what we were doing that we didn't notice anything until I heard the exaggerated gagging noise Charlie was making. We didn't leap apart, but Fox eased up on me and pulled his hands out from under my shirt, resting them on my hips. And we both looked over at Charlie. He had Jack with him, using Jack as beast of burden to carry down part of his dirty clothes. Jack was just staring at us, uncertain what to make of what he saw.

Charlie spoke first, before I could say anything. "It's okay. It's kind of gross, but it's okay. It just means that they're in love or something."

Tossing his laundry basket down onto the floor, Charlie instructed his new brother to do the same thing. "In love?" Jack asked.

"It's something icky grownups do. I think you go crazy when you grow up. Makes you want to swap spit with someone. And quote poetry," Charlie explained. "I don't get it. But Dad and Otherdad really love each other."

Charlie guided his new little brother upstairs again, very pointedly shutting the door to the laundry, then at the top of the stairs, shutting the basement door again quite loudly. I trusted that Charlie wouldn't tell so much to Jack that it would disturb his peace of mind with too much information too soon. Both Fox and I burst out laughing at the same time. He muffled his using my back.

'The one time he gets it down on time..." I said, then started laughing again. Eventually, Fox unburied his face from my back and started kissing my back again, his hands moving up my shirt again. "Hey, what if he comes down again?"

"I doubt it," Fox said. "I'd say this room is pretty safe from intusion from now until forever. He definitely doesn't want to see his dads doing the nasty. What kid would?"

I had to agree with that. I soon fell prey to Fox's roaming hands. His hands slinked up my shirt, unbuttoned the top button of my jeans and undid the zipper in short order. You know, before I started all of this, I complained about getting nothing but hand jobs from him for a long time.

I'll definitely say now, that I'd gotten far more than I expected from this Twenty One Day plan. I never had tracked down that self-help book. I hadn't needed to. I doubt it could tell me anything that I didn't know. That what was important was not the quantity, nor even the quality of the sex between two people, but the honest emotion shared. The willingness to give as well as take. That it takes effort to keep a marriage going, as much work as a job really. And that the best sex is with someone you trust to know every little bit of you, inside and out. That sex is important, that you need it to keep the connection between the both of you going strong. I was definitely going to have to find some subtle way of thanking the ladies at work for the idea, without actually letting them know I followed through with it.

I don't know if I was going to try this 21 day plan again, at least not for a while. I don't know if I could keep up with pace, what with a new kid who had needs that had to come first. But what it had given me was something more valuable than words can express.

I let Fox make love to me in that laundry room, gently, with concern, tenderness, and not a little lust. He was careful not to hurt my arm or push me too hard. He was a good man, a good father. A good husband. I was lucky to have him. Lucky to know how lucky I was. I really was a lucky so and so.


End file.
